


Acedia [Sloth]

by Blvquebird



Series: The Vice Chronicles. [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Angst, Dark Sansa, Death, Dragons, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Jon and Sansa Are Not Related, Love/Hate, Original Character(s), POV Third Person Omniscient, Pre-Cataclysm, Romance, Sibling Incest, Slavery, Tragedy, War, valyrian freehold
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2018-09-22 21:09:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9625460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blvquebird/pseuds/Blvquebird
Summary: Prince Jon is the crown prince of the Valyrian Freehold.  Having seized control of every bordering land from the east to the west, the civilization is in it's prime...His campaigns bring him into the acquaintance of a strange fire haired slave, captured from a neighboring empire.  The prince, idle by nature, grows unaware of the machinations in his own kingdom, assuming the realm remains undisturbed...Until the sorcerers of the empire grow too bold with their use of dragon fire and dark magic.Even the gods cannot contain the chaos that ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "[Sloth], As sweet as honey, as corrosive as acid." ~Ancient Greek Proverb
> 
>  
> 
> This is the second installment in my series of extended one-shots based on the seven deadly sins. 
> 
> Enjoy.

I am a lowly man, by my countries standards. I was not born of wealth or fame. I did what I had to to survive in a vast empire where I was just a ant in a colony of queens.  
  
I was born of Old Valyria. A mighty nation. A nation born of humble beginnings, feeble and innocent as a babe. A peaceful group of sheepherders who found their might in the fourteen fires that light my Kingdom. The breath of life that flowed from that chain of sun mountains were our heart.  
  
Our life.  
  
Our dragons.  
  
I’ve lived a blessed and a cursed life. Blessed to see my nation at it’s height. Cursed by the gods to see its fall. It took the life from the fourteen fires, honed it, tamed it, and encased it in it’s campaigns across the eastern lands. Obliterating the strong and proud empires such as Rhoyne and Old Ghis. No nation could resist the fury of our freehold.  
  
None did.  
  
Scorched and barely seared into the annals of time… that was all that was left. All that was left of the cities, that now lay in ruins, smoldering in dragon flame and death.  
  
I never took part in such campaigns. I only observed, from afar. From my humble places in the darkened streets or when I walked the base of our sun mountains. I was content to live without luxury or partake in the banal dealings of politics. I knew everything there was to know about my country, it’s people, their machinations, whether I wanted to or not. I took it all in, stored away in my personal bank of recollections. All saved to make a statement or two. To make a point to my kingdom that everything is vanity.  
  
All was meaningless.  
  
But I will say there have been moments in my life that have been worth remembering. Worth archiving in the annals of my years.  
  
One particular recollection of a young man. One of the most important men in my society. A prince. The crown prince of Valyria, Jon. Never in my time have I come across and person I wanted to remember.  
  
With him, I had no choice.  
  
He was a rare one. He was a coal, resisting the pressure that would make him the diamond our people expected him to be.  
  
The story is unusual, full of glory, riches and blood. The story in strange, full of magic, treachery, and lore. The story is tragic… full of pain, of  love..  
  
Of sacrifice.  
  
The story is his…  
***************************************************************************************  
The prince was an idle one. Idle in everything that did not peak his interest. Idle… even when things did.  
  
Thus was the very temperament he dawned one evening as he sat atop the onyx boulder that smoked beneath his feet. The glow from the fourteen fires cloaked the city in a cumulus blanket of crimson, plum and orange.The haze was hypnotic. Peaceful and despite the heat below him, it was cool up there. Jon’s dark hair billowed in the gusts of cold wind. Black tunic clutching and gusting about his chest. Biting into firefruit, he looked down lazily into the volcano he sat atop of. Waiting for his dragon.  
  
Balerion grumbled complacently. his black scaled head looming above the sea of lava he was submerged in. He was taking his time, bathing, recharging in the place of his birth as dragons often did. Indifferent to Jon’s growing boredom.  
  
“How much longer will you take?” Jon called into the fiery pit.  
  
The dragon let out a cool hiss, flipping over onto it’s great winged back, flicking it’s tail upwards gracefully, sending a shot of lava upward. Jon cocked his head to the side, dodging it nonchalantly. His jaw clenched, taking another bite of his fruit, he reclined onto the black bed of rock staring into the haze.  
  
Jon stared into the blood red sky as evening fell, the city was alive. Mirthful, joyous and raucous with victory. Our kingdom, The Valyrian freehold had just conquered the Old empire of Ghis. The prince and his battalions had smashed the Ghiscari legions. Balerion, headed the horde of dragons that roasted the pyramids in a fiery cloak of death. Weary from battle, he rested atop the vast string of volcanoes that rested on the edge of the peninsula. Staring into the cool blue water that cascaded into waterfalls and flowed out through the canals that lined the city streets and palaces. He looked down over his people, the festivals, bartering and merchant traders. It was peaceful.  
  
He hadn’t honestly minded Balerion’s leisureliness. In truth, he was in no rush to return to the city, to head into the palace and be met with the spirited crowds and gaiety. As crown prince of Valyria, his duty was to command our war forces. Every victory they won was due to his prowess in battle. He was ruthless upon his black dread. His connection to it so strong it needed not a verbal command to shower his enemies with flame. Still, the prince never relished battle. It was as tiresome to him as the duties the midwives forced upon him as a boy. Nothing felt like a challenge. He skill in war rested almost completely on his talent, and talent alone.  
  
Still, his decisions were for the good of his kingdom, the royal family and their subject houses. He would have to go back, especially now that the last of their navy was sailing into the city ports.  
  
He heard a grumble to his left, Balerion’s great scaled talons clutched at the volcanoes mouth, red stripes growing longer as his head lifted itself from the fiery depths. A cape of lava was falling like meteors from his back. Coming to a heavy drop beside Jon, he crouched low huffing contentedly. Jon spit the pit of the firefruit into the volcano, it plopped in with a hiss. Raising a muscled arm, he clutched the skin of Balerion’s back, lifting himself onto him. Running a hand through his hair, he shook flecks of lava from it lazily. Crouching low to it’s back, the residual flecks flew into the sky as Balerion lifted from the edge of the volcano, descending into a dive.  
  
He banked over the crystal turrets and through a labyrinth of giant ivory columns. Speeding down a lush canopy of crimson fire roses and green vine. Jon let his hand surf over the cool blue water of the waterfalls beneath him as Balerion nose dived, pulling swiftly out spinning up, past the magicians keep to a marble palace balcony. Jon slipped off Balerion’s back. Dropping to his feet with a lazy sway. Licking the firefruit’s residual juices from his fingers. Ten palace guards rushed forward bowing swiftly to Jon before firing obsidian ropes towards Balerion. Reigning him in. Jon walked through the silk draped pavilion striding past royal handmaidens who curtsied and leered at him seductively. Jon gave them a polite smile as he shed his shirt, grabbing another clean tunic from a solemn manservant who bowed low. Pushing through the doors slicking his hair back into a knot he swaggered down the gold staircase into the great hall.  
  
A roar erupted as he walked in. A horde of Beautiful Valyrian girls draped him in kisses and silks of welcoming. Jon amused them, kissing each one back making his way through their clutches. At the end of the tunnel of arms stood his guard, brothers who fought with him in the wars.  
  
“Young prince!” they exclaimed walking towards him with arms outstretched.  
  
Prince Jon escaped the clutches of the horde of girls ambling his way towards his comrades.  
  
“My brothers.” he said softly, arms outstretched to them.  
  
Talaenor Raenmaereon, Jon’s lieutenant and closest friend reached him first.  
  
“How typical of you to arrive fashionably late, killing time with the maidens then?” he quipped with a grin.  
  
“I suspect he was lounging atop the fire mountains, look at the soot on his face!” interjected Jon’s general and fiercest warrior Jaegon Melreos with a knowing smile.  
  
“Prince Jon, as Idle as always. You’d never assume he just crushed our greatest rival this very morning” added Jon’s Battalion leader and captain Talaenyx Aereris.  
  
 “You know me too well” Jon brushed, fending off their teasing with a laugh.

“About time you arrived, pretty prince. I really don’t know why mother and father exercise the patience they have with you. Some of us prefer promptness to idle waiting.” Remarked a silvery voice to Jon’s rear.  
  
If there was one Valyrian you did not want to cross, it was the owner of said voice. Viserra. The eldest sister of the royal family, and the prince’s betrothed. It was said the cry she wailed when she was birthed was blood curdling. Even as an infant her cries held the air of madness. To that very day, the prophecies were true. Her ruthlessness and pride were only matched by her beauty.  
  
“Princess.” said Jon’s guard bowing to her. She ignored them. Whipping her long silver blonde hair behind her with a flick of her long nailed fingers.  
  
“I’m pleased to see you as well.” Jon said lazily placing an unenthusiastic kiss on her cheek.  
  
“It’s time you do your duty and say your greetings to the King and Queen.” she demanded. As i’ve said, we’ve been waiting.” She demanded icily  
  
The prince obliged her with a yawn, walking towards the dais lazily.  
  
King Rhaegar and Queen Lyanna sat upon their ornate thrones, adorned with an array of jewels from the sparkling sea.   
  
“Father. Mother.” The prince announced reverently, kneeling in front of the thrones.   
  
King Rhaegar’s regal visage looked down on his son. His lavender eyes sparkled proudly. Queen Lyanna’s dark hair, the locks Jon inherited, billowed slightly as her handmaidens fanned her with thick palm leaves. She smiled sweetly at her son.  
  
“We half expected you to sleep through the festivities my child.” She said in a sweet, honeyed voice. Standing from her seat, she made to embrace the prince but never got the chance. A second later, he was submerged under the limbs of three bodies, two men, one female.

His siblings. The youngest, Aegaron with his golden hair and eyes that matched his father’s was nearing manhood. He caught him under the rib in a playful jab, using excessive force as he always did. The eldest brother, Rahaemon, who closely resembled the youngest, had him in a headlock, mussing up his raven curls with a strong Valyrian hand. If the headlock hadn’t deprived the young prince of sufficient air supply, the individual who was kneeling comfortably on his chest might’ve been. His youngest sister and closest sibling, Jaenara who, like he, inherited their mother’s dark hair and coloring. She was laughing gaily, tears of mirth forming at the corners of her grey eyes.  
  
“The young prince has come home!” Roared Prince Rahaemon, who’s hands never left Prince Jon’s ebony locks.  
  
“I’ve been bored with no one to spar with!” added Prince Aegaron, sending another jab at his brother’s rib.  
  
Jon, too lazy to fight back, allowed the loving abuse to take place with a yawn.  
  
Princess Jaenara, who pressed her nose to her brother’s playfully wore a smile identical to her mother’s “What took you?! I had half a mind to fly Meraxes to Old Ghis and search for our battalions myself!”  
  
“Could you not see the smoke from the Freehold then?” The prince replied playfully, lifting a hand to caress her face. “You’ve grown in my absence, more beautiful than two moons ago.”  
  
“And you!” Prince Jon started, lifting his other arm to lock Aegaron in a headlock matching his own “Nearing manhood I see, the timbre of your voice has dropped as far as Sothoryos.”  
  
“Some decorum _please.”_ Seethed the icy voice of Viserra who was looking down at her siblings above her aquiline nose with obvious distaste. “We are _royalty._ Such behavior is for the peasants.”  
  
“Peace, Viserra” interjected King Rhaegar gently “Your siblings have missed each other, let them visit how they wish.”  
  
Viserra, who would not contradict her father openly, silenced herself against her will.  
  
As her siblings untangled themselves from each others embraces, Prince Jon’s guard approached them. Bowing to their King and Queen respectfully,   
  
“If it pleases you, my Lord and Lady” Talaenor, Jaegon, and Talaenyx spoke up “our first act, having newly arrived back into our kingdom is to present to you our spoils of war.” They announced proudly.  
  
With a clap, they signaled the the soldiers of the battalion. A moment later, a dozen of the burly Valyrian guard filed in, chests of Gold, Emerald, Sapphires, Pearls and Rubies in hand. Jewels and chains, opals and Amethysts were set in front of the throne. The royal court came alive  and vocal with adoration at the riches being bestowed in front of their King and Queen.  
  
“A gift from our friends in Old Ghis.” Jaegon quipped with a smirk. A ripple of laughter erupted from the fold.  
  
“These are very fine. Thank you Melreos, you’ve done well.” Said the King reaching out to inspect one of the emeralds protruding from an open chest.  
  
“Thank you, my liege, however the thanks belongs chiefly to our young prince” He said slapping Jon on the back “He fought with all the strength of the gods of our great freehold combined. He crushed the enemy mercilessly, going as far as to sow salt and sulfur from the backs of our great dragons to ensure they would never rise against us again. The Ghiscari are no more!”  
  
At this, the royal court rose in a roar so powerful, the jewels at the foot of the throne rattled and shook.  
  
“In addition, majesties, if it pleases you further, we present to you the remnants of the civilization. Slaves stolen from the palace depths, the men strong in stock. The women, bold in beauty.” Interjected Talaenor, holding his hand out towards the great doors where chains clanked and rattled, pulling in a file of men and women in.  
  
The crowd’s attention turned towards the new arrivals. Talaenor wrapped a scarred and muscled arm around Prince Jon’s neck proudly as they watched the captives gathered in.  
  
Talaenyx moved forward with Jaegon to reign them in, presenting them in front of the royal family like one would present livestock or chattle to market vendors. Thick iron chains cuffed the slaves at the neck, the wrists, as well as the ankles. They were wearing tattered rags, sullied by dirt, stiffened by sea water.   
  
“As you can see” Began the captain, slapping the men around the arms and torso’s “the men are strong, fit for hard work in our mines or for fighting in our pits. The women...” he said, pulling a maiden in by her neck chain “young, fertile... broken. They’ll give no master any trouble in any household. Yours to designate and do with as you desire, majesties.” he finished, taking a step backwards to push the slaves forward in better sight of the throne.  
  
Even Viserra, who as proud as she was and never impressed, looked pleased. Pleased that an enemy had been crushed and humiliated so thoroughly. Their capture cemented her pride in the Freehold and all its might.   
  
Aegaron and Rahaemon stepped forward circling the slaves with interest, patting Jaegon and Talaenyx heartily on the back.  
  
“It pleases us, Captain, well done. See these off to the slaves quarters to be washed and dressed as our maesters see fit. Their stations will be decided by them. Our sorcerers may need extra hands in their quarters for their magic.” said King Rhaegar softly.  
  
“As you wish, sire” Bowed the captain of the battalion signaling the soldiers to lead them away.  
  
The thick throng of men and women, fear in their faces, were filed out one by one through the great doors of the hall. They flowed out smoothly, without cry or complaint.  
  
All, but one.  
  
A girl, with hair as red as dragon flame and eyes as blue as the sapphires that rattled a moment before at the base of the thrones, yanked her hands away from the guards that gripped her. With her hands cuffed away, she utilized the next best thing,  
  
her teeth.  
  
Crouching down quickly, ripping a knife from a unwitting soldiers belt, slashing him across the face so quickly it was hardly seen. Spitting the weapon into the air, she caught it with her hands, thrashing wildly, whipping three guards across the back with the heavy irons, catching one of them on the shoulder with the blade. His cry pierced the room.  
  
The crowd gasped, The King and Queen looked on at the commotion with frowns gracing their royal visages. The royal guard, stepped forward, swords drawn, ducking and weaving as the girl fiercely spun her chains around in a whip like circles. It took several moments, she was quicker than any of them had expected, her reflexes were cat like. It took the combined effort of four of the men to finally take hold of her chains and separately pull downward, pinning her to the ground.  
  
Her breathing was heavy, labored. She thrashed here and there against the weight of the four men and the tightened chains.   
  
“There now, there now...” Jaegon coaxed soothingly, even though, with a nod, he and the other soldiers were forcing the girl up roughly by her chains while she thrashed, moving toward the prince and the rest of the royal family.  
  
“A fighter. Look at the murderous rage in her eyes. She belongs to you, my prince.” Talaenor teased with a grin, his arm still latched around Jon’s neck.  
  
The prince's mouth cricked upward at his lieutenants jest, but said nothing, observing the commotion indifferently.  
  
The guard came to an ungraceful stop. Still attempting to stifle the girls throttles.   
  
“What would you have us do with this one, your grace.” Asked Jaegon, his deep voice rumbling.  
  
Talaenor released his arm from around Jon’s neck as the prince walked a few feet forwards. Coming to a stop a few inches from the girls face.  
  
If only I could have told him. If only someone could have warned him, told him to look away from her eyes. To look away from her intense gaze, The fierce gaze that bore into his soul. If only, someone could have told him to stay away, the prince could have saved himself. Saved his people from the misfortunes that would inevitably follow.  
  
But he didn’t. He looked closer. Allowed his calm and stoic gaze to search her crystal blue eyes. The gaze that met his was full of loathing, frustration, pain, grief.... but underneath all of that, the prince saw beauty. An undeniable beauty that softened her irate disposition.  
  
Only he saw it.  
  
From that moment forward, he was trapped.  
  
“What... is your name?” He whispered. Not a blink was spared as we waited for her answer.  
  
It took a moment, a moment that felt like eons. The room was silent. She opened her mouth, it looked as if she was prepared to speak.  
  
The very next moment a warm spray of spit hit his face.  
  
Her answer.  
  
The crowd gasped in horror and disbelief at such disrespect. The guard yanked the chains that bound her, she writhed against their strength.  
  
Calmly, the prince wiped the saliva from his mouth.  
  
“My prince” rumbled Jaegon “Would you have us do away with her?” He asked  
  
“No.” said a voice before Jon was able to respond.  
  
It was Viserra, meandering over to where they stood, her beautiful head raised proudly. Stepping in front of her brother, she took the girls face roughly in her hands. Looking over it with mild distaste and dangerous amusement.  
  
“Hmmmm....” She mewled turning the slave’s face to and fro. “Since this girl prefers to put up a fight, I’ve the perfect place she can put her talents to use. Take her to the fighting pits. She can live out the rest of her short days in combat fighting for her pathetic life.” She finished with a sadistic grin.  
  
Without another word, she released her grip from the girl’s chin. The guard snatched up the chains immediately there after, pulling the girl away against her writhes and growls. She did not go calmly. With one last hateful look, her blue eyes flashed in the prince’s direction.  
  
His eyes met hers, unquestionably and unequivocally intrigued.  
*******************************************************************************************


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Jon is the crown prince of the Valyrian Freehold. Having seized control of every bordering land from the east to the west, the civilization is in it's prime...
> 
> His campaigns bring him into the acquaintance of a strange fire haired slave, captured from a neighboring empire. The prince, idle by nature, grows unaware of the machinations in his own kingdom, assuming the realm remains undisturbed...
> 
> Until the sorcerers of the empire grow too bold with their use of dragon fire and dark magic.
> 
> Even the gods cannot contain the chaos that ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first of the battles in the fighting pits begin...

  
_“Where is your mind, my prince? Your face looks more listless than usual.”_  
  
Jon looked towards his lieutenant and best friend, Talaenor, who was observing him with a cocked eyebrow and a signature smirk. He’d only just realized where he was.  
  
The volume around him that he had mentally shut out had moments before, rose to a deafening roar. The freehold was still alive with mirth and victory. The whole of the kingdom, it seemed, were gathered in the amphitheatrum. The Royal family, guard, and a handful of the other Noble Valyrian families sat high in their boxes, observing the crowd in their gaiety and raucousness.  
  
Prince Jon, who was usually more active in celebrations after a war victory mind was nowhere near the spectacle or inebriated mirth like his people. It was otherwise engaged, running through the events that occurred only a day before.  
  
_‘What is your name?’_  
  
Blue eyes flashed before his. He recalled their ferocity, their hatred...  
  
Their beauty.  
  
He ran a calloused hand over his lips, still able to feel the warmth of the spit she had ejected defiantly from her mouth.

A moment later, another sensation pierced him, his right shoulder to be exact. Breaking from his reveries, he turned to see Jaenara pulling her teeth from his skin, an innocent and large smile gracing her features.

Jon, always happy to see his youngest and closest sibling, pulled her into a headlock, peppering her forehead with kisses.

 _“I thought it was too early in the year for mosquitoes.”_ He said while she attempted to break free from his hold, giggling wildly,  
  
A blow to his left nearly knocked them both from their seats as the weight of both of his brother's locked around his neck.  
  
_“Arghhh--- no time for distractions brother--”_ Muffled Rahaemon ruffling his younger brothers hair, his lavender eyes sparkling.  
  
_"Yes, pay attention!”_ Chimed in Aegaron, who was now wincing, fighting to escape his sister’s hold on his arm.  
  
“ _Perhaps you should all take your own council. Your parents are observing you with the same look they fixed Jaenara with when she stole Sunfyre last summer.”_ interjected Talaenor with a sly grin.  
  
Abruptly, each sibling stalled their rough housing, turning their eyes towards the thrones that sat leveled above their seats.  
  
King Rhaegar and Queen Lyanna’s eyes were squinted identically, berating their children without uttering a word. One look from from their mother and father was enough to strike fear into their hearts. Taking Talaenor’s advice, they untangled themselves from each other’s embraces, standing upright with their faces towards the arena.The King and Queen turned their attention the the center of the amphitheatrum, Viserra, to their left looking imperious and bored.  
  
The crowd’s roars came to a decrescendo as a figure in robes of deep purple embroidered with flecks of gold slithered toward the center. With his arms outstretched, Matalor Ardaerys, the old wizard opened his mouth, the boom of his silvery voice echoed through the stands as if he was standing adjacent to every spectator in the arena.  
  
As was custom in our empire, the first battles that took place after a war victory in the amphitheatrum was ushered in by the oldest and most wizened wizard in the freehold. For three hundred years, Matalar Ardaerys reigned over the sorcerers of our empire. Hos open arms spanned outward like a pair of vultures wings.  
  
_“Great people of Valyria!”_ He wheezed in his ancient voice. _“The gods have granted us a great bounty! The blessings of the most noble royal family whom they’ve appointed to rule us and the blessing of the most noble prince, who fights, defends and conquers with the fierceness of a thousand dragons, we stand and enjoy the splendor provided by his deadly hand!”_  
  
At these remarks, the crowd ripped into jubilant and fierce applause. King Rhaegar and Queen Lyanna tilted heir heads in acknowledgement. Talaenor, Jaegon, and the captain of the royal guard moved forward, grasping the prince by his shoulders with pride.  
  
_“It is only right to honor the endeavors of our sovereigns...” Continued Matalor “...with a demonstration of power just as glorious_  
  
_and just as merciless._ ” He finished  
  
the last syllable of his words dripping from his mouth with a bloodthirsty curdle. Stretching into the air and outward. It followed his taloned fingers, the were extended toward a giant obsidian gate.  
  
The midnight steel was creaking against the weight of savage tremors. The stomping of the crowd was enough it felt as the though arena were ready to collapse into itself. with a curl of his claw-like hand, Matalor gestured the gates open. Three formidable looking guards clutched their hands around the obsidian bars, heaving them open fluidly.  
  
From behind the dust that rose like clouds, several figured loomed forward. Twenty of the finest and most well kept men marched forward.  
  
Men... is a tame word for what they were.  
  
The way the prowled forward, the look of gaunt and menace gracing the scars that lined their faces. Their eyes, as blank and as dark as the cloak of the stranger.  
  
They weren’t men.  
  
They were demons.  
  
Only Valyria, our great nation, would ride the demons of the sky in the morning just to watch the demons of the earth fight in the evening.  
  
There were a flurry of others, more human in their look. The finest and most unfortunate stock of Old Ghis, all men, traipsed among the demons, averting their gazes as they walked towards the middle of the arena.  
  
All men, but one. The girl, with hair as red as sun-fire and eyes a blue as sapphire stood in the middle. The thin chain mail of her shoulder armor flickered in the afternoon sun. Her look was blank. Her mouth set in a firm line, looking ahead, but looking at nothing.  
  
Matalor allowed himself to survey the combatants for a moment, then turning back toward the crowd, lifted his arms again in announcement.  
  
_“I present to you the pride of our arena and the finest of our spoils! Let the gods chose who to glorify.”_  
  
As he finished, the audience roared again in applause. Matalor raised his cloak above his wizened face, vanishing in a sphere of dust. From across the arena amid the roars of the crowd, the rapid beating of drums reverberated like cannons through the fold. The signal that the massacre was ready to commence.  
  
And without warning or preamble, the first blow was thrown. A monstrosity of a man, clad in spiked obsidian armor, eyes as black as evening, advanced on a Ghiscari fighter.   
  
He never stood a chance.  
  
With one swing of his spiked club that matched his chest plate, he struck a blow so forceful across his opponents head, smashing his skull clean through. With a dramatic sway, his footing was lost as he crumpled to a bloody mess in the sand.  
  
The crowd roared at the first casualty. Stomping in excitement, accompanying the rapid beating of the Royal drum corp.   
  
_“This will be ruthless!”_ exclaimed Aegaron leaning over the railing looking down at the battle. The other occupants of the the royal box were following suit; the royal guard were leaning over the railing as well, alongside the youngest prince their eyes raking over the bloodbath beneath them.  
  
Prince Jon’s eyes however, though watching the fight, were fixed on the strange fire haired girl who was standing stark still. Though clad in armor, netted mail around her chest, her stomach bare, her hair billowing across her face by the wind of the commotion surrounding her. Her lips, still fixed in that firm line.  
  
The prince would not take his eyes off of her, an eyebrow raised, and his jaw clenched, he was slightly perplexed.  
  
_‘Fight... why will she not fight?’_ he thought.   
  
  
All the while while he pondered, eyes fixed, she did not budge. Save for the long moments her eyes would close as the sand and specks of blood billowed around her face.  
  
Two, six, nine. That was the body count that rose higher and higher as the vicious horde of demon Valyrians plowed through the Ghiscari, So vicious they were they even turned on each other if one became an obstacle in their quest for blood. The crowd was jubilant. The kind of jubilant that comes before a thirst was quenched. Their thirst was for blood.  
  
An the gladiatori all but complied.  
  
As the volume of the arena rose, kill after kill, so did the volume of bodies. Piling so high an obstructoin began to form. Matalor was flickering in a gust of dark shadow to various places in the arena. Observing the spectators, offering salutations to the nobles of the city. It was in no time that he appreared on King Rhaegar’s left, craning over vulture-like to kiss the Viserra and the queen on their wrists.  
  
Jaegon, Talaenyx and the rest of the royal box were mimicking the crowd in their excitement. Their grip of the railings tightening, their roars rising in delight at the scene below.  
  
The massacre was growing in gore. The largest of the gladiatori, the very same with his obsidian spiked club tore into the flesh of one of his comrades, who was in the way of a stocky darked haired Ghiscari. The spikes of his weapon were lodge so deeply in the chest of his victim, whilst he tore it out, a piece of rib flew out with it, echoing with a crack around the aphitheatrum.  
  
The very same occurred to three more fighters, each dropping the fireflies before the famished demons. The dust was rising violently, the arena’s roars rising deafeningly, three Ghiscari made a successful attempt at throwing javelins towards the Valyrian behemoths that surrounded them. A few fell-- and the flicker of hope that flashed in their eyescould be seen as high as the tallest box. Just as soon-- it was stripped away as the largest with the spikes reached his hand out, crushing the throat of one, then knocking the other two out in one clean blow, obliterating their jaws from their skulls.  
  
A satisfied hiss reverberated around the arena. The circus’ bloodlust was being appeased. A whirlwhind of blood, dust and sand was whipped around, rising like clouds. The bodies could be seen through the clouds, stacked high and lank. Still the girl stood, motionless  
  
The girl, who still held the prince’s attention. His own grip on the railing tightening slightly, his jaw clenching more firmly as he realized she was the last standing between the Vicious Valyrian demon and his assumed glory.  
  
Slowly, the dust rose and settled, the jeers from the stands coming to yet another crescendo. The behemoth advanced across the sand, his bloody club dragging a bloody line in the sand. The prince’s eyes flicked from the girl the demon. She would not move, not even as his steps pounded and shook the ground around them. He was stepping over bodies with long and slow strides, stepping on the lesser ones. When he tired of that, his club would raise, striking bodies from the obstructions in his way.  
  
  
The hisses and roars were growing in delight, they could not only smell death, they could taste it. With every rip he made, with every blow he struck, the distance between he and girl with the mane of flames grew smaller and smaller. A moment later they were only a few feet apart. For the first time, he came to a pause, and for the first time, so did the cries in the stands. A strange hush cloaked the arena. A hush of anticipation. Even in the royal box, the King, Queen, Princess Viserra and Matalor watched with keen interest.  
  
The behemoth stared at the girl, her face was expressionless still. The contrast between them was gargantuan. She was looking up at a giant and he bore down at her as if she was nothing more than an insect.  
  
A smile crept over his face, followed by a deep ripple of perverse laughter. It rang around the air like boiling oil. A second didn’t  pass before he swung his club down swiftly, laughing all the while.  
  
A collective shriek whipped through the fold.  
  
A jet of dust sprang up high into the air. So high, it blocked the view from the stands. the crowd roared in frustration. They wanted to see. The wanted death.  
  
As the dust cleared, the behemoth was crouching, his arm still glued to the ground where he’d just struck. The only difference between then and a moment before was the location of a red mane of hair, which had moved. The demon looked down, his smiled fading, his laughter dying, confusion rising in the deeply scarred lines of his face. Whipping around he searched for his prey.  
  
And he found it, standing behind him.  
  
The crowd erupted in murderous jubilation. The only thing that surpassed their lust for blood was their lust for spectacle. The prince’s eyes widened. How could she have moved so swiftly?  
  
Wasting not a second, another blow came down again, this time more forcefully, a grunt of power could be heard from the attacker. Another jet shot up, blurring the scene in a cloud of sand, and again when it cleared was simply and empty spot and a visibly more irate gladiator.  
  
He twisted he great neck around searching for the girl, who was beside him now, the strap of her breast plate falling across her shoulder slightly, her mouth still in a firm line. With a laugh he rose to full height. A scarred and bitten tongue crept snakelike from his mouth, slithering suggestively at the beauty in front of him.  
  
He lunged at her and finally, this attack was not blocked from view. If she had one advantage, it was her size. Minuscule compared to the monstrosity that bore down on her, she utilized the speed he couldn’t. She ducked, stepping out of the way so quickly he stumbled over himself.  
  
And again. And again. And again, he lunged, each time more furious than the last. And each time, she would evade him. Easily.   
  
But she never struck a blow. The prince was still observing her, he was tense. Eyes locked on the scene before him, all of it moving in delayed motion.   
  
A mixture of irritation and perversity was etching across the demon’s face. He was growing excited, leering at the girl like a piece of dragon meat. That dark laughter seeping from his lips again.   
  
And, unexpectedly, instead of a lunge, his left hand swept under wards, with the speed none would have guessed he possessed. Before the girl could side step his advance his hand connected with her. The bottom half of her to be exact.   
  
The crowd roared with screams. The men, louder in approval. What better way to show dominance over a female than clutching at her womanhood.  
  
The prince’s eyes observed, his jaw clenching even tighter. Beside him, Jaenara was eyeing his grip on the railing curiously.   
  
The behemoth’s laugh boomed across the amphitheatrum. And as for the girl, he face finally contorted into expression. Her eyes grew wide, a shudder could be seen rising through her body. She struggled briefly, a grimace forming as the demon’s smile grew wider. The arena was raucous in their perversity, growing bolder with their jeers as the behemoth grew bolder with his movements. His hand began to move, his laughter fell to a deeper timbre, his breathing heavier.  
  
That was when the girl grew stiff. So much so it seemed she’d been overcome. Shouts around the fold began to rise again. Death its was near... so very close.  
  
The prince observed it first, the slight twitch to the girls left. Her eyes appeared glazed over. Blank. One would have never guessed she was even conscious. That was when a hand began to raise, amidst the giant’s movements. SLowly the first, then the right arm followed.   
  
It wasn’t just the prince now, the royal guard began to til their heads towards her, their smiles fading slightly, to the prince’s right, Viserra and Matalor’s stood on the royal dais, brows furrowed in imperious interest.  
  
Higher and higher the girl’s hands rose, her red hair swelling like fire across her face, then gently they latched around the behemoths neck. Instantly, his laughing faded. His confusion was apparent. No doubt he assumed she had given in. His breathing remained even however, His great neck craned forward to an obstructed view of her hands. His laugh began to rise again. He was amused. clearly, What her hands were doing were having little no no effect on him, they were not even wrapped fully around the circumference of his neck. The crowd began to mimic his mockeries, rising in their faithful jeers.  
  
He attempted to begin his ministrations again, clearly drunk with an idea of invincibility. Before he had the opportunity, the girl’s head rose from it’s lank position, rising just as her hands had a moment before. Her wide sapphire orbs narrowed, her lips began to pull over her teeth, her fingers were tightening... not around her opponents neck, but beside the thick veins that surrounded it. With a flash of her hand a quick jab motion, barely visibly but undoubtedly done, were shot on both sides of his neck.  
  
His laughter was fading, his eyes growing wide, he was beginning to realize something, whatever it was he had no time to focus as he dropped the girl suddenly, reaching for his neck. Gasping and wheezing, flailing and convulsing. Sputtering and wheezing, he was beginning to foam at the mouth, dropping his great club with a booming thud. The girl whipped her hair out of her face, circling the giant like a wolf stalking a stag.  
  
It was the most unusual of circumstances. A switch like this could not be possible. Not a moment before, the girl had been kissing death on it’s very lips, clearly oversized. Clearly overpowered.  
  
The crowd understood this, their laughter dying just as the demons had, confusion forming on their faces as well as they watched. Watched her circle the monster as her hair whipped in the biting sand, watched her as she waited, clearly understanding that whatever she had done had caused the sudden incapacitation of her opponent. Watched, as the behemoths convulsions became more acute, more violent, more audible. His gurgles and wretches causing their skin to crawl. He writhed on last time a great heave of defiance before he stilled, his face falling lank to the side, the veins in his neck swollen and engorged.   
  
A silence so deafening rang through the crowd you could hear a whisper. Every intake of breath was audible. Specifically the girl. Who stopped her prowling, her breathing heavy with adrenaline. Her footsteps could be heard as they made their way to the demons lank left hand, the hand that still clutched at club.    
  
She reached for it, it looked as if it was nearly the size of her entire torso. Still, she lifted it, rising it above her head, blood still dripping from it’s spikes. Her hair fell back over her face as her back arched, revealing a look a pure and stoic hatred etched across her face. She looked down at the body below her, the demons onyx eyes law open and blank, If there was an inch of life left in him, it was obliterated as second later as the great club fell with a powerful swipe, smashing the demons skull in just as he’d done to so many others only moments before.  
  
A collective hiss exploded from the stands, deep and rich with satisfaction. A bloody spectacle they wanted, and a bloody spectacle they were given.  
  
It was satisfied again, and again as the club came down two more times, a bloodcurdling crack reverberating against the limestone with each strike . When the girl finally stepped away from what was the behemoth’s head, only a lake of blood lay at her feet. Her breathing was heavy, her hands clutched, flexing inwards and outwards before she swiped her hair out of her face, smearing blood over her forehead as she did it. Weather she realized it or not, it made her look even more ferocious than the demon had only minutes before. Her blue eyes even more visible than ever. They looked out towards the crowd with loathing.   
  
The crowd, however, did not reciprocate such sentiments. Quite the opposite-- their hissing began to crescendo to roars again. Roars of delight, of satiation, of mirth. They’d been appeased by the strange girl from Old Ghis. The blood debt they demanded had been paid, gore and all.   
  
Matalor raised his head as well as his cloak, vanishing in a cloud of deep plum only to reappear in the middle of the arena right behind the girl. Without hesitation he raised his arms, looming over the girl like a great humanoid bat.  
  
_“Your majesties... people of Valyria, I present to you, your victor!”_  
  
The whole of the amphitheatrum roared, clearly pleased. Matalor looked down from the crowd back to the girl who stood, still. Unfazed by the applause that reigned down on her.  
  
Matalor, once again raised his cloak out, this time wrapping it around himself and the girl, a moment later they were floating in a small cyclone of plum smoke high enough to stand eye level with the royal box.   
  
While the mass continued their cheers, she reeled around, taken aback by the sorcery, she was brought to attention again as Matalor’s long claws stroked her about her chin  
  
_“If it pleases you, your majesties.”_ He bowed deeply. Rising, he turned, pausing briefly.  
  
The girl had not bowed, as he did.  
  
Her eyes were raking over the royal guard, over the King and Queen surveying them as if she were royalty herself.    
  
_“It is customary to bow, my sweet.”_ he said, but sweetness was the one thing his words were lacking, they seeped from his lips like venom from a snake fang.  
  
Still she would not concede.  
  
“Perhaps she does not understand our tongue.” quipped Jaenara innocently.   
  
_“She understands._ ” Interjected Matalor calmly. His blackened lips curling. _“I said bow to your sovereigns, girl._ ” he demanded again, more forcefully this time.  
  
Again, she did not comply. Instead her eyes caught the royal guard, who stepped back at the severity of her gaze. The prince whose eyes fell on hers, did not.   
  
_“BOW!”_ Roared Matalor after an uncomfortable pause. Instantly she retaliated. Her eyes still locked on the Prince’s, another wad of bloody spit ejected from her lips. Staining the ornate railing of the royal box.   
  
_“Such disrespect!”_ snarled Viserra, rising rapidly from her seat, coming close enough reach out and touch the girl. She raised her arm to strike. Her hand made it’s way downward swiftly  
  
_“Viserra!”_ roared a voice. Calm but authoritative. It was her father, King Rhaegar who was standing, hand in hand with his wife.  
  
Viserra’s hand stopped just short of the flame-haired girl’s cheek. A gust of the wind from the princess’ would be slap sent her blood-matted hair billowing sideways.   
  
Viserra turned towards her father after staring at the girl imperiously. The king bore his eyes into hers, then tilted his head courteously to the crowd.  
  
_“Our people.”_ he stated simply.  
  
The defiance and irritation on the princess’ face indicated that she understood. Clearly against her desires, she lowered her hand slowly. Stepping back as she regathered herself.  
  
The crowd indeed had grown louder in their applause. Their screams were saying the very opposite of Viserra’s desires. They clearly, did not detest the girl, they took to her, delighted in her and the show she had just displayed for them.  
  
_“The people speak, father.”_ Interjected Prince Jon lazily. Feigning disinterest.  
  
Louder and louder the fold roared, they were deafening, their screams equivalent to a thousand dragons shrieking.  
  
_“So they do.”_ Agreed the King. Nodding to Matalor he said nothing else. Taking to his seat on the throne.  
  
Matalor’s lips were still curled. Daring not to disobey his sovereign he bowed again in acknowledgement. Rising to full height again, turning to the mass.  
  
_“People of Great Valyria! You have spoken and we have heard you. Your champion, shall live.”_  
  
At that the amphitheatrum erupted into cheers so violent it could not only be heard, but felt, through the vibrations in the limestone.  
  
It was done. Matalor lifted his cloak once more, the cyclone of plum smoke disappearing with him, the girl fell, falling to a crouch abruptly. Just a quickly, seven of the Valyrian guard shot out of the arena’s gates with chains. Latching them to her neck, torso, wrists, and ankles before she could fight back.   
  
And still the crowd roared as she was led away.  
  
Her eyes flashing towards the dais again, looking back at the royal family with loathing.  
  
All the while the prince’s eyes never left her. Not even when Talaenor wrapped a familiar arm around his neck in tease.  
  
_“If looks could kill, young prince. It seems the young Ghiscari viper only has eyes for you.”_ He whispered under the commotion. Prince Jon turned to give his best comrade a bored stare.  
  
_“Oh I’ve known you since our first nameday, even Matalor’s strongest sorcery could not cloak this from my sight.”_ He said with a laugh _“Those looks of loathing... I was right, perhaps she does belong to you...”_  
  
At this prince Jon’s thoughts followed the vision of her stare, hidden behind the thick fringe of blood-matted hair.   
  
_“Just enjoy having to share her... with all of them”_ Talaenor finished, waking Jon from his thoughts again, nodding at the massive fold who, even as the girl was forced through the gates to the holding cells, would not dispense with their applause.  
  
The prince, realized the enormity of the commotion around him. All instigated by the girl, who did not fight until she had to. Yet the hate in her eyes. She was hiding a murderer's rage.   
  
Behind him, Viserra was nursing a similar expression, even as the Queen caressed her face . Her eyes following the girl through the gates to the holding cell.  
***********************************************************************************************************************************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> So it's starting, Prince Jon still hasn't forgotten the girl with fire made hair, Nor will he ever after the spectacle he and the rest of blood-thirsty Valyria just observed. Though the empire seems to have taken to her...
> 
> a few have not.
> 
> Is it possible that a slave could make such dangerous enemies without even uttering a word?
> 
> Only more trouble and juiciness to follow (Like I said, it only get's worse ;) )!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy(ed)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Jon is the crown prince of the Valyrian Freehold. Having seized control of every bordering land from the east to the west, the civilization is in it's prime...
> 
> His campaigns bring him into the acquaintance of a strange fire haired slave, captured from a neighboring empire. The prince, idle by nature, grows unaware of the machinations in his own kingdom, assuming the realm remains undisturbed...
> 
> Until the sorcerers of the empire grow too bold with their use of dragon fire and dark magic.
> 
> Even the gods cannot contain the chaos that ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fighting in the Valyrian pits continue as the fire-haired slave is put through another battle, more bloody and lethal than anything seen in three hundred years.

A full fortnight passed as the festivities raged on. In our kingdom, conquering an enemy was not a trifle affair. It was an excuse, and excuse to engage in revelry, in raucousness, in drunken inebriation all cloaked under the respectful veil of “honor”.  
  
Such was the exact circumstances as the third battle ensued among the gladiatori, who were dwindling in number.  
  
All thanks to one. The girl with the flame hair had survived a second fight. Obliterating another chief gladiator with ease. The arena loved her. Her popularity among them growing with each fight. But just as well, after each fight her popularity among the nobles grew more bitter. More acidic.   
  
Still, she would not bow when ordered to.  
  
The mass was particularly boisterous the evening of the third fight. Many had adorned themselves with streaks of red paint over their foreheads and cheeks in a show of adoration to the girl and her first victory.  
  
The royal guard were sat in the top box again, alert and intrigued at the imminent battle. The prince in particular had beat his family and comrades to the aphitheatrum, lounging lazily in the seat closest to the royal thrones. His family arrived moments later, his siblings greeting him boisterously as was their custom, The King and Queen gliding regally into their seats, Viserra by their side looking imperious as usual.  
  
Matalor arrived just as the crowd thickened in the stands. His familiar deep purple robes, wisping and billowing like smoke against his large vulture-like frame.  
  
Stretching out his arms again, he began his monologue to the masses. The monstrous shadow of the crowd dancing like waves as the massive basins of dragon fire lit the arena.  
  
_'People of Valyria! I stand before you to usher in a new night, a night fit for your attendance. In honor of our great victory against our enemies only a fortnight ago, this evening will be a reenactment of the very same. An_ _exact replica of the battle that was waged by our very own, Prince Jon against the mighty empire of Ghis.'_  
  
At this statement, the mass lost all propriety, rumors had swirled about the city of the destruction that was caused that day but the Valyrian legions. I, myself, the lowly man that I was had even heard whispers of it. How the very ground of such a great empire, once lush with vegetation and pillars that touched the sky, had turned into a barren wasteland of salt and sulfur once the prince and our armies had finished with them.

The crowd was wild with screams, they knew whatever spectacle they were about to behold would be worth their while.  
  
_'I present to you, the combatants..'_ Matalor gestured to the far side of the arena where the great obsidian gates creaked open.  
  
Two dozen fighters, emerged from the dark abyss behind the iron bars. Great Valyrian Demons and the a flurry of hardened Ghsicari, scarred, beaten and hungry. Their time in the pits were marked on their faces like cattle brands. Each appearing less human than the one before. The crowds cheers were building like boiling water, coming to a abrupt crescendo at the last individual bringing up the rear.  
  
The girl with the flame-colored hair traipsed slowly out of the holding cells. Trailing behind the others placidly. Her hair was half pulled from her face in a knot. The netted mail that covered half her chest glistened in the moonlight. Her lips were set in their firm line, her eyes dead, expressionless but alert.   
  
 As the fighters queued their way to the center and outskirts of the arena, Matalor stood in the middle amongst them. Holding his arms up once more, he opened his lips to speak.  
  
'To the death. NO exceptions.' He crooned with a morbid glare around the aphitheatrum, his gaze resting on the girl.  
  
_'May the gods choose who to glorify.'_ He finished, his lips curling as the drums began like cannon fire. Matalor vanished in his familiar cloud of purple smoke, appearing a moment later in the royal box beside the King and Queen. He shared a brief nod to Viserra that went unnoticed.  
  
As the crowd shot into roars that filled the air, Prince Jon laid back in his seat, his posture cloaking the rising feeling of dark excitement creeping up his chest. His siblings and war brothers circled him, their bodies upright craning their necks to the view below them.  
  
A single clap rang out above the din of the crowd   
  
and instantly, the sky was eclipsed with red. The gladiatori going after each other like a pack of ravenous wolves. Weapons ranging from swords, to clubs, obsidian slings and onyx javelins thrashed like lightning. Demons similar in favor to the first behemoth lunged for the weaker combatants. Through a sphere of dust catalyzed by one’s obsidian sling, he reached a hand out, grabbing a Ghiscari fighter by the neck.   
  
The unfortunate fellow suffered.  
  
 His strife illuminated in the red of the moon and the flames of the pillars that surrounded the Colosseum, His eyes bulged from his sockets, his face puffing out, his strangled cries morphing into wretches and gargled screams as his neck collapse in size.   
  
The behemoth threw the fighter aside by the lank of his neck, the body colliding disgracefully with the sand. The demon lifted his fingers to it’s rough and scarred tongued lapping the blood that trickled over onto his palms, It’s blackened eyes rolling up into its socket’s in ecstatic delight.   
  
It’s eyes flared open to the girl, who was displaying a slightly different maneuver than her previous battles. She was crouched low staying below the whirlwind of blood that grew thicker every second the battle raged on. The great demon reached down to grab her, she jolted aside, but he was too quick far too swift for his size. His fingers wrapping around the top knot of her hair, yanking her upwards, then side to side like a child’s play thing. Her agonized and strangles rang out, her eyes screwed up in pain. It egged the demon on.  
  
He grew more bold with his abuse, lifting her high above him by her hair, dangling her like a succulent piece of meat. He was ready to devour.  
  
But never had the pleasure. Seizing the moment, the girl wrapped her long lithe legs around the giant with a snap. Her thighs flexing powerfully. The behemoth was blinded, swaying heavily with imbalance. The girl caught her sense of equilibrium more swiftly than he, swiveling her body around his neck. Reaching for her ankle she quickly unsheathed something that glinted in the firelight of the arena. Just as swiftly she reached forward, using the gravity of a large leftward lunge the behemoth was making in an attempt to buck her from him. The slim sliver of silver she’d pulled from her ankle lodged itself in the behemoth’s chest.  
  
Once  
  
Twice  
  
Three times over. And again, for good measure.  
  
The demon writhed. Clutching at its chest as blood poured from the wound directly where his heart should have lied. Stilling mid-way between the onslaught of blows he was throwing at the body above him, he fell, slowly at first then all at once; the girl riding the wave of his heavy descent down, landing on her side, rolling to her to feet then quickly pulling her weapon from the dead behemoth’s chest.  
  
The stands erupted is hisses of mirth. Death was visiting and the crowd was more than honored to host their guest.  
  
It was madness. The panic in the fighters of old Ghis crippled their logic. They lost the would-be formations that acted as their defense. Breaking their lines they swing wildly at the Valyrian horde. Some successfully bringing down one or two, others drowning in a sea of their blood.  
  
The girl was streaked in lines of crimson. Her long legs were running swiftly, darting in and out of the obstruction of demon legs and piling corpses. Another behemoth reached for her, knicking at the heel of her left leg. She lunged forward, the ground speeding up to meet he. --Twisting her body powerfully, the muscle of her right arm flexed upward, colliding across the thick skin of the demon. The slap echoed throughout the arena, eliciting a deep groan of satisfaction from the mass. The momentum and force of the girls strike sent the demons head to the side, losing his view of her, his grip on her ankle faltered. Dust rising sharply in a torrent around him  
  
The girl skidded rapidly backwards, the force of her fall causing her to skip roughly across the sand like stones on a lake. The dust settled around the behemoth that finally caught sight of the girl as she came to a stop. Lunging for her, she made to pull for the weapon at her hip but instead was rained on by a hurricane of blood and the heavy sound of a crack that whipped through the air like thunder. Another behemoth had swiped a great spiked javelin across the girl’s would-be attacker, lodging it clear through both sides of its skull. It fell with a blood-curdling shudder.  
  
As the Javelin wielding behemoth roared with victory, the girl lifted her long bruised legs, grabbing a blood drench bow across from her in the sand, wrenching the broken javelin from the skull of the first demon. She knocked the bow ready, aiming at the roaring giant as he cried out in victory. A second later his hellish eyes grew wide, his roaring halting abruptly the only sound he could muster was a screech as he fell choking on the javelin that had been his aid only seconds before.  
  
The mass erupted into frenzied screams. A clean kill.  
  
Gripping the bow, the girl broke into a swift run, weaving through the bodies of battling giants and broken weaponry; slicing here and there at stray arrows and attacks from her blind sides.   
  
A powerfully built Ghiscari fighter, dark of hair advanced on the girl from her right as she ran, catching sight of him as he neared she reached to aim a blow, only to be meet with the hard collide of his body tackling her to the sand.  
  
A moment later it was apparent why. A massive scythe cloaked on blood landed with a heavy thud a foot away from where they fell, Breaking free from the weight of the fighter, The girl griped to her feet breathing heavily. Turning to the fighter, a look passed between them. The prince craned his neck at this exchange, having followed every move the girl had thus far. His jaw clenched slightly, tuning out the stomps from the crowd and the roars from the royal guard.  
  
The Ghiscari youth had aided the girl, the look between them signaled an understanding. Had he not tackled her to the earth, her head would have no doubt been impaled on the obsidian of the scythe.   
  
Breaking eye contact they turned back to the arena raising their weapons for any onslaught of assails. The arena was growing smaller in combatants but larger with corpses. A particularly large Valyrian fighter, advanced. The whites of his eyes tinged as red as the blood that flooded the dirt. A face so marred and marked it looked made of molten stone. In his hand, a gargantuan net of metal. Black as night but so luminescent it looked a sea of stars. So mesmerized by the net’s dark beauty, its victims could not see how deadly it was. The source of the coruscation were the knots of fire flint, a hard enough swipe on the sand and it would combust into a fire so brilliant it could blind on sight and scorch through bone. The behemoth was slinging it with all his body weight, fighters igniting in a flash of blood and fire round him, his bloodthirsty laughing booming through the arena.  
  
The crowd was growing more frenzied, more erratic, the spectacle taking a more ostentatious and gory turn. This is what they came for. What they craved. The dark energy of their mirth could be felt to the air, rising like heat  
  
An acute and deep sound of a horn rang over the noise of the mass. Suddenly the attacks slowed, as of a spell was put over the air itself.  
  
The crowd silence slightly  
  
The Prince raised an eyebrow  
  
The girl’s eyes narrowed. Her body stilling, her breathing slowing.   
  
To the north, south, east and west side of the arena, great onyx gates were creaking to a rise, opening to a dark abyss hidden behind.  
  
As those gates opened, even the crowd could feel the air of forbidding.

  
Seconds later, it was understood why.  
  
Matalor’s voice slithered through the senses of every citizen in the stands.  
  
‘ _The battle will now demonstrate the might of our dragons against the Old empire of Ghis’_  
  
It was all that was said, For nothing else could be heard over the shrieks and screeches that ebbed from the gates. Rippling scaled backs and sharp obsidian talons crept forward into the arena.  Six in total of the most deadly creatures prowled the sand. Their tongues long in length, the size of a grown man’s body, the chains on their necks threatening to break free from their thickness.  
  
_‘Gods...’_ whispered the oldest Prince, Rahaemon.  
  
_‘No...’_ echoed Talaenor.  
  
Prince Jon himself lifted from his lounged position, now fully alert at the new arrivals.  
  
It was not possible. An act like this had not been seen in the arena’s for a hundred years.

 _‘Fledglings’?_ said the deep and voice of King Rhaegar, his brows furrowed in curiosity.  
  
_'Tis a gift, for the insubordinate slave_.’ Replied Viserra silkily to her father, her eyes flashing from Matalor to the depths of the arena, a satisfied half smirk playing at the corner of her lips.  
  
Prince Jon, regarded his sister as she spoke, his jaw clenching a slight more as he stared at her cavalier barbarity.  
  
The Fledglings, newly born not two or three years were the offspring of the most ravenous dragons in the whole of our empire. They were kept away due to the erratic unpredictability of their natures—they eviscerated their prey, not hesitating to tear at each other if their appetites were not satisfied.  
  
As they advanced on the slaves in the pits, their backs rippled with black heat, their midnight colored wings, leathery and scaled folded along their muscled sides, their talons digging into the sand, chests heaving with rabid hunger. It was apparent due to the fractured din in the stands, that the amphitheatrum as a whole knew not whether to cheer or cower in fear.  
  
A momentary pause soaked the pit floor, only the deep rumble in the guts of the beasts rang out.  
  
All too quickly, the sand was bathed in rose.  
  
The creatures were deadly swift, snapping their powerful jaws in sharp flashes at the jugulars of their prey. A behemoth swiped a sturdy blow with an onyx axe but was overcome by a talon so sharp he was raked open with ease, the halves of him torn apart by two Fledglings seconds after.  
  
The girl’s eyes widened at the monsters before her as they descended across the arena, attacking the gladiatori and each other. The Ghsicari youth beside her bellowed something, jerking his arm out. Splitting swiftly apart, her long legs broke into a sprint forward, reaching her fingers to the sand she swiped for her bow, a jet of fire singing the underside of her forearm slightly. Tossing herself out of the way, she skidded backwards, cradling her arm, her face screwed up in pain. Her eyes opened a second later to the sound of a shriek and a roar. The Ghiscari youth that had aided her only moments before had taken the brunt of the Fledglings fire, His skin singed as he forced blow after blow on his attackers. His head was torn from his body with a snap that shook the ground.  
  
The girl had not a moment to take in the shock of what she’d just witnessed when the eyes of the Fledglings took her in. They began to advance on her, hissing slowly as the space between them and her flesh grew smaller. A sharp pain collided with her left cheek, her eyes searing over with white hot pain again. The behemoth with the metal net had struck her about the face, no doubt attempting to get one last human kill before he took on the reptilian beasts. She staggered sideways, dazed by the hit. The Behemoth made to hit her again but she raised her bow, parrying the hit away from her face with one hand as she clutched at it with the other. The force of her blow was enough to buy her time to slip from the Behemoth’s sight. She sped around him looking about the sand.  
  
More weapons, it was clear, she was kicking broken helmets from her path looking for more weapons, anything. Kicking over the handle of a spiked club she lunged for a shield, narrowly avoiding another jet of flames. Picking it up she had just enough time to raise it before the enormous hand of the demon reached down to strike her. The weight of the hit pounded her into the sand, her strong legs refusing to buckle. She held her stance, pushing against the behemoth with all her strength.  
  
A second later she was thrust forward, the weight on her legs releasing, stumbling ahead just slightly. Whipping her flame hued locks from her face she saw that it had not been her strength alone that had alleviated her, but the hunger of the Fledglings, ripping the behemoth back by the spine, ripping his flesh from his body. His screams of agony, rising with the roars of the spectators.  
  
The girl’s chest heaved; she was running out of options. Once the Fledglings had their fill of the demon she would be all that was left before they turned on themselves.  
  
The crowd was beginning to rise to a crescendo, the moonlight and blood feeding their ferocity.  
  
Viserra raised her beautiful head, the cold smirk on her lips rising. Matalor was gracing a similar expression, his blackened lips curling up against his pallid skin.  
  
The prince was standing now, between his Royal guard and siblings, his face intense with focus.  
  
‘ _What will she do… death is certain-- the beasts are starving’._ He thought, not seeing any alternative for the girl.  
  
Her sapphire eyes fell to the carnage before her; the Fledglings were still tearing chunks of flesh from the behemoth’s massive bones, their wings spanning upwards, a number of them rising to the air for a better view of their meal. They were sending masses of sand into the air as their talons ripped and wings beat against the nights wind.  
  
The girl paused for the briefest of moments, looking down at her shield for a split second before hurling it with all her might towards the Fledglings. It landed near the decapitated head of the behemoth. A second later she disappeared between the shards of sand, the brisk sound of running becoming more and more audible as the dust fell. When it cleared, she was running at full speed, darting between corpses and broken weaponry.  
  
She was getting closer and closer, her hair whipping behind her as her pace accelerated. She leaned down, ripping the metal net from the fractured hands of the fallen demon, heaving it over her shoulder with all her strength, dodging a sharp swipe of a Fledglings Talon as she did so. Her eyes closed for a split second, as if she was sending some prayer up to her gods while she still had the ability. Opening them sharply, her long but bruised legs shot both feet out onto the hood of her thrown shield sending her into the air above the storm of sand.  
  
A shriek rang out above the din, in a tornado of dust, a scaled black blur was summersaulting mid-air, shooting out erratically above the carnage below. It was a Fledgling, shrieking in what was undoubtedly acute agony. It was attempting to shake of something off its back.  
  
That something was the girl, hanging on its neck with her singed arm as it rose into the air. It was colliding with the pillars that held up the amphitheatrum in an attempt to buck her off. Her head shot back in a cry but still she clutched to the beast.  
  
The prince’s eyes widened  
  
‘She refuses to die…’ he thought.  
  
She collided with another pillar again, and again, crying out each time; her grip on the metal net in her hand and the beast’s neck never slacking.  
  
It would not fly straight.  
  
 It could not fly straight-- the prince in all his surprise observed something lodged in the beast’s eye.  
  
It was her bow, deeply embedded in the blackened iris of the monsters pupil. The Fledgling circled around as the girl held on for dear life, breaking into speedy bank over the pits, picking up wind. She used her muscles to lifter herself, turning her face to look below her. It was quick, it had to be. To the Prince, it seemed as if it was happening in delayed motion. With a cry the girl, thrust the great metal net out, the shimmer of obsidian glimmering as it descended. It fell over the ravenous beasts that still tore at the flesh of the behemoth.  
  
Raising herself up some more, she reach her hands over the convulsing Fledgling, ripping the bow from its eyes. It shrieked rearing its head wildly shooting flames out from its throat. The girl raised her hand, hitting the beast over the neck then yanking at its wings. It rolled in the air, shrieking all the while in pain but she would not desist.  
  
Seeing no other option the beast sped downward, the girl struck it once more around the throat before releasing herself from its back. She fell, the ground raising up to meet her rapidly, her hair billowing about her face as her back arched against the wind. The Fledgling reared its head to look at his tormenter, thrusting its neck back, releasing a jet of fire from its mouth so powerful, the royal guard hastened to raise their arms to their faces, Prince Jon pulling his sister Jaenara to his chest to shield her from the heat.  
  
As the beast dived after her, the direct stream of fire from its mouth descended with fury. At the very last moment, as the girl fell, she twisted her body to save herself from the brunt of her fall-- skidding across the sand crashing into broken weaponry.  
  
The blast from the frantic beast’s belly proved its undoing. The fire flint from the metal net ignited the minute the flame touched its surface, spreading like a virus over the beasts that still tore at the carcass of the behemoth.  
  
The earth could not contain the fire; it ignited so forcefully the brunt of the blast was sent back up into the air, incinerating the blinded beast as it dove--Its shrieks echoing with its ravenous brethren, their flesh scorched by the sea of flame.  
  
The Prince, Royal Guard and spectators were dumbstruck. The whole of the pits was lit aflame, the smell of scorched flesh permeating the air. Out of all the fighters, out of all the demons that prowled the arena and the predators that tore at flesh,  
  
the girl was the only one who remained, using a combination of brute force and expedient wit.  
  
Still heaving, she rose unsteadily to her feet, swaying against the heat of the flames. Her hair blending with the red of the fire as it billowed over her face. The crowd, waking from their awe, broke into cries so jubilant it shook the very foundations of the amphitheatrum. They had just witnessed one of the greatest battles the pits of Valyria had ever held. It lacked in nothing, not blood, not gore, on the contrary they were given their fill of it. All wrapped in a bow of flames, courtesy of the flame haired slave.  
  
Their mirth reached the heart of the young Prince, who regarded the girl in disbelief. He was sure she would have met death.  
  
By all calculations, she should have.  
  
It was clear that the same thoughts were mimicked in his eldest sister’s mind, for Viserra’s signature smirk had morphed into a frown of bitter discontent and irritation. By all accounts, the outcome of the battle had not gone the way she’d hoped or predicted.  
  
Matalor, as well look displeased. However he recovered quickly, raising his cloak over his face again, appearing in a flash of smoke beside the girl. Wrapping her in the familiar cyclone of smoke, the pair of them appeared a second later, eye level with the royal box.  
  
The crowd was raucous, almost animalistic with applause. It was becoming difficult for one to hear oneself think.  
  
‘The champion, majesties.’ Matalor hissed delicately with a bow, pushing the girl slightly forward on their bed of smoke. The whole of the royal box took her in; hair sleek with blood, the wound on her cheek, the reddening flesh of her forearm as well as the bruises on her arms. She was beaten, battered, the shadow of her beauty peeking out behind her wounds.  
  
‘ _Well done!_ ’ piped Jaenara with an innocent smile, the girl’s eyes flashed at the princess’ direction, the youngest prince, Aegaron covering a hand over her mouth to silence her. The air around the box was tense. Even the youngest and rowdiest of the siblings understood, that particular moment was not the time to speak.  
  
_‘Yes well done… barely.’_ Seethed Viserra from her mother’s side _‘Father, I supposed they’ll be no use for her now that the arena is in desperate need of renovation. Her execution should be carried out immediately.’_  
  
The king tilted his head in consideration at his daughter’s request. Prince Jon, breaking his gaze from the fire-haired beauty spoke up.

‘ _I beg you father, I differ in opinion.’_ He whispered, regarding the King. ‘ _She is the victor, she has been for all three battles. She has won the favor of the mass, our people. An execution of their champion will undoubtedly displease them.’_

Viserra’s eyes snapped to her brother, who ignored her gaze nonchalantly.

 _‘It would be best, I think to snuff out any ounce of defiance that might be detected, in any of the captured from our conquests. This… girl has shown more disrespect in the past fortnight than I’ve seen even from our worst enemies. She will not be missed I can assure you, brother.’_ Viserra pressed, her eyes attempting to burn through the prince’s very being.  
  
‘ _Noted. However you think it wise to execute a champion of the people based on perceived slights? It might very well insight revolt, and I cannot think of anything more disrespectful, than rebellion, sister’_ Replied the prince, still ignoring her burning glare.  
  
_‘Your brother makes a valid point, my love.’_ Crooned Queen Lyanna.

 _‘You have a solution to this… dilemma then?’_ inquired the solemn voice of King Rhaegar

 Whose muscles flexed as he stroked his chin.  
  
‘The prince’s eyes switched back to the girl…  
  
Again, If only I could have told him. If only someone could have warned him, told him to look away from her eyes. To look away from her intense gaze, The fierce gaze that bore into his soul. If only, someone could have told him to stay away, the prince could have saved himself. Saved his people from the misfortunes that would inevitably follow.    
  
But he didn’t, his eyes remained fixed on the murderous sapphire glare that peeked through the soft billow of wind in her hair, her blue eyes glinting in the pillar fire and moonlight. A moment that felt like eons passed between them, then finally the prince spoke up.

 _‘Give her to me. She cannot be trusted with her skillset to be alone with the other slaves. She will remain alive under close surveillance by myself and my royal guard. She will but put to hard labor. Any insurrection or disobedience will be quickly neutralized. Being that she will be under the eye of the palace, any stirrings of mutiny will be detected by us first.’_ Jon replied mechanically, asserting his point as if he were reciting battle plans to his war council.  
  
King Rhaegar nodded slowly, looking into the fire that raged behind them.  
  
‘Very well.’ He replied simply.  
  
The prince, bowed to his father respectfully, his face stoic, attempting not to look entirely too pleased with himself or the barbaric glare coming from his elder sibling.  
  
_‘But father, Is it wise-‘_  
  
_‘It is decided, Viserra.’_ The King retorted shortly, his Lavender eyes flashing dangerously.  
  
Promptly, Viserra held her tongue, flicking her silver hair imperiously, a murderous sour raking over the fire-haired girl’s face.  
  
It was decided. With a bow, Matalor descended with the girl in the cloud of plum smoke. The grey gaze of the Prince following her down as her feet met the sand. The crowd continued to cheer violently, screaming for the girl as every limb she had was chained amongst the flames. Still, the Prince’s gaze never left her as she was pulled by seven of the royal guard; no longer led to the holding cells beneath the pits but escorted up the marbles steps of the amphitheatrum. towards the prince’s royal chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> Another chapter! So, obviously this is not the last installment to this vice, lol. I completely underestimated the detail I wanted to put into the story, so to round it all out, I think it's safe to say there will be [at least] two more chapters to go.
> 
> Our fire-haired slave has just survived another sabotage (cough) I mean battle. Now, thanks to a little interference by our grey-eyed prince she's moving on up in the world. The prince's royal quarters to be exact.
> 
> Will either of them be prepared for what ensues? Stay tuned!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy(ed) :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Jon is the crown prince of the Valyrian Freehold. Having seized control of every bordering land from the east to the west, the civilization is in it's prime...
> 
> His campaigns bring him into the acquaintance of a strange fire haired slave, captured from a neighboring empire. The prince, idle by nature, grows unaware of the machinations in his own kingdom, assuming the realm remains undisturbed...
> 
> Until the sorcerers of the empire grow too bold with their use of dragon fire and dark magic.
> 
> Even the gods cannot contain the chaos that ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fire-haired slave becomes better acquainted with Valyria and it’s citizens outside of the pits…One darked haired Valyrian in particular.

The heat of the afternoon sun beat the atmosphere over the air when a cold splash of water broke across the marble title of the palace courtyard. The heavy copper pail cracking the floor as the culprit behind the throw laughed.  
  
_‘Pick it up, girl.’_ said a guard with a deep chuckle.  
  
The girl turned her face away from the wet abruptly, lifting her arm to shield the splash. Her red hair was soaked in the front. Peering through her dampened locks she glared murderously at the guard who was becoming more and more bold with his taunting.  
  
For the past three days since the last battle in the amphitheatrum, she was set to work in the palace as the prince had arranged. Scrubbing the courtyard floors had been her lot, with a galley of Valyrian soldiers watching over her as she labored. These guards in particular were crass and crude, attempting to get a rise from her any chance they could– ‘the great beauty that kills without thought and sets arena’s aflame’ they whispered throughout the city amongst themselves.   
  
_‘I said, pick it up!’_ he sneered, knocking her to the ground. A petty attempt to prove his masculinity against the fighter whose name, or lack thereof dripped from every citizen’s lips.  
  
Her face collided hard with the broken marble, lowly guards around chuckling heartily. Her hair spread like ink around her.  
  
Too busy they were guffawing; they never saw her lithe fingers curling around a dislodged piece of marble.  
  
In one swift motion she kicked the legs out from underneath the guard looming above her. He hit the marble just as hard as she had. Men who were still in laughter choked to a stop instantly as one of the spare ripped forward to contain her. Lifting herself off the floor, she ran straight towards him, swiping violently at his face with the shard of stone. He fell behind her clutching his face with a cry.  
  
She was running at full speed ducking through guards who lunged at her mercilessly, heading straight for the balcony pavilion that overlooked the vast smoking sea, seizing her small and perhaps only chance of escape.  
  
The same guards who’d roared with laughter at her position only moments before gained on the girl, stopping mid sprint she side stepped quickly, rotating sharply to her left, the edge of her palm shooting into one man’s rib, he roared in agony dropping to his knees. Wasting not a second, she swept over him, racing through the archway the led out to the balcony, the thin linen of the dress that wrapped around her neck and hung mid-thigh whipping in the wind.  
  
Four more guards lounged on the railing the lined the balcony, two of which caught on very quickly to the situation once their eye caught glimpse of the red hair rushing past them. They darted forward; speeding towards her, their steps pounding the ground beneath them. The same guard who had laid her prostrate on the marble, thrashed at her arm catching her on her shoulder. Reacting quickly, she wrapped her hand around his, using the momentum of his lunge to thrust his weight over herself. Dropping sharply to a crouch she dug her knee into his chest as he crashed to the floor, jabbing savagely at the two points beside his neck. Just as the behemoth had, his eyes bulged from his sockets, raking wildly at his throat, sucking harshly for air.  
  
She was close, so incredibly near her goal, the edge of the railing was speeding towards her, her bare feet powering her strong legs forward. She was bracing herself. She would jump, there was no other alternative, and the quickness at which her feet were moving proved that perhaps she did not care.  
  
Only feet from the railing now, her body beginning to arch forward, her bare feet lifting from the ivory marble, the guards behind her shouting—reaching for her desperately  
  
Their commotion was halted as a shriek ripped through the heat.  
  
The atmosphere cooled as the heavy but steady beating of wings edged closer. The wind generated grew so strong it thrust the girl away from the edge of the palace. Skidding backwards, she caught her balance just before she fell. Her sapphire eyes followed the beating, coming to focus on the Onyx and Crimson skull of a dragon so large it cast a shadow that darkened the sky overhead. It rose slowly over the railing that surrounded the balcony, raven curls and an icy grey gaze rising with it. On the dragon’s back sat the Prince, torso bare, his face apathetic as he sucked on a Firefruit, watching the commotion below him.  
  
The dragon’s landing quaked, great talons clutching at the railing it perched menacingly over. The guards that still pursued the girl caught up with her, taking advantage of the gargantuan interruption, the man who she had struck in the rib and incapacitated locked his arm around her neck roughly. She writhed while he attempted to hold her still, doing his best to remain at attention as the prince descended from the back of Balerion. Coming to a sharp drop he swayed with a lazy swagger, taking another bite of firefruit while he walked towards the two individuals struggling before him.  
  
_‘Sire–!’_ began the guard whose forearm pressed closer to the girl’s neck ‘ _the prisoner was attempting to escape. She attacked a number of the men in her endeavors including myself’.’_ He announced, his face, pallid as he struggled to take in sufficient air amounts of air.  
  
The prince came to a stop about a foot from the girl’s face, silent, his grey eyes on the guard. Tilting his head here and there slightly as if he were weighing the situation out on a set of scales, he pulled the fruit away from his lips

 _‘How was he overcome?_ ’ he whispered with deep timbre, his eyes still focused on the guard, extending a stout muscled arm towards the soldier still writhing on the ground.

The guard thrusted the girl forward in indication, attempting to still her as he addressed his sovereign.  
  
_‘The slave, sire.’_ He said sharply.  
  
The prince’s ice-grey watch dropped to the girl’s face. Her eyes stared back into his, unflinching. He scoured her visage, the wet of her hair, the slight bruise forming over her left cheek, the plump of her lips as she breathed heavily.

  
Pausing, he took another bite of the succulent fruit as if he had all the time the world could offer. With a swallow he took in a calm breath of air.  
  
_‘Enough. Restore him.’_ The prince whispered, his gaze direct, his head tilting slightly towards the convulsing guard.  
  
She gazed back at him. Not moving an inch. Silent as her sapphire eyes remained obstinate.  
  
_‘Restore him.’_ The prince repeated patiently.  
  
Still she made not a movement and spoke not a word.  
  
The air was thick with silence save for the man’s retching that began to grow stronger and stronger, several guards surrounding attempting to raise him to his feet.  
  
Prince Jon’s face remained blank, his focus still direct on the girl’s narrowed orbs, eyes defiant as the guard’s arm hugged tighter around her throat.

 _‘Now.’_ he commanded—tone soft, his gaze growing more intense never breaking from hers as he waited patiently.  
.  
Their eyes remained fused for what seemed like ages, the guard behind the girl, looking from the Prince to the locks of red in front of him.  
  
Finally, full of defiance and burning with hatred, her glare relented. Her sapphire orbs dropped from the prince’s eyes, to the arm wrapped around her throat. Looking back at him, she waited— he understood. Prince Jon’s eyes snapped back to the soldier holding the girl back, he cocked his head up sharply and instantly, the guard pulled his arm from her throat.  
  
Jon’s watch followed the flame colored locks as the brushed past him slowly. The guard on the floor began to pale, his retching becoming more guttural, red streaks lining his neck as he raked desperately for air. Dropping to a crouch the girl reached out, gripping the guard by his face, her mouth in a firm line. She hesitated, hatred flashing in her eyes as she turned her gaze back towards the prince.  
  
His grey eyes were focused, watching her lazily, the air of command still surrounding him as he brought the fruit to his lips again, waiting.  
  
With two sharp jabs, she hit the guard around the veins on either side of his neck.  
Instantly, a deep gasp signaling his release resounded, the color rushing back into his face. She stood, looking down on him with unmistakable disgust.  
  
_‘And him.’_ Said Jon, whose eyes had now dropped back down to his fruit, jerking his head towards the guard who had the girl by the neck a few moments before. He was still heaving for breaths with difficulty, his hand clutching over his rib, his face growing paler.  
  
The girl’s eyes narrowed, delicate jaw clenching with irritation. No doubt she was hoping he would not notice and the man would die with ease– but as idle as the prince was, he missed nothing, especially in matters of militancy.  
  
As Jon watched her, she traipsed towards the guard reluctantly pausing in front of him before giving him a sharp jab underneath his lung. Immediately like the man before him, he sucked in a fresh breath of air doubling over.  
  
Satisfied, the prince observed the guard as he came to. Still looking at the soldier, he pulled the fruit from his lips extending a calloused hand, gripping the girl’s in his. She looked up at him with slightly veiled surprise, her eyes narrowed.  
  
Jon began to walk towards the silk draped pavilion, spitting the pit of the fruit from his mouth, pulling the girl behind him. The guards gawked after him, standing stark still. As they watched him swagger away, slightly dumfounded, he reared his head back at them, the thickness of his black curls brushing the base of his neck.  
  
_‘Clean the blood off the marble.’_ He whispered brusquely.  
**********************************************************************************************  
The cool breeze from the balcony halted instantly as the doors closed with a soft clip. Jon stepped into the silk draped chambers, his hand still clutched over the girl’s steering her into the vast room. She snatched her hand away from his as soon as she could, shooting him a cold glare. With an indifferent crick of his neck, he let her fingers slip through his without argument.  
  
She had nowhere to go.  
  
Running a hand through the thick of his hair, he made his way over to a grand bed situated in the center of the room; it too was draped in silks of the finest quality. Sitting on the edge he began to undress, his boots pulled off one by one; his handsome face, scarred by battle grimacing slightly. Reaching down, his fingers dipped into the cool of a blue clay basin clutching around a linen cloth, a deep but barely audible groan of relief escaped his lips he patted the water around the thick of his neck.  
  
So deep in his singular euphoria he was, it would have been easy to overlook the stranger in his midst. However, on instinct, the prince opened his eyes, surveying the slave across the room listlessly.  
  
As expected she was not in the same place he left her, she was maneuvering stealthily across the giant chamber, paused between two pillars that stood between floor to ceiling windows. Her fingers grazing the paneling when the prince spoke up–  
  
_‘What is your name?_ ’ he whispered, his words clear and direct.  
  
She paused briefly but stepped though the large columns moving on the next window, ignoring the prince completely.  
  
A small smirk tugged at the corner of his full lips, amused at her deliberate disinterest. He surveyed her some more, watching her lithe legs still grainy with powdered marble and wet, sidestep the pillars as she made her way to one window after another.   
  
Never being one to push, he wrapped the damp linen around his large calloused hand like a bandage, dipping it into the cool of the basin when he decided to speak again  
  
_‘Six new colonies effectively established today…’_ he began running the linen down the gloss of his beard _‘Statesmen and ambassadors have been placed and all is well with the capital affairs of Valyria…_  
  
_so I’m told…_  
  
_… I never like these… stately meetings. Quite dull… almost makes one wonder… my people aren’t above punishment to train the senses… they set them up in the towers that overlook the sea… as if they’re daring you to wander lost in thought of escape. Quite cruel…’_ the prince trailed off going into a pleasant recollection of his day’s activities.  
  
The girl’s walk stiffened, though she continued to make her way around; her fingers needling the rim of every window, willing herself to ignore the deep and uncomfortably soothing timbre of the strange man’s voice.  
  
_‘…. And that’s when I elected to head back to here, retire to the peace of my chambers, only to find that peace… was the last thing occurring in my palace. The nameless slave, champion of the amphitheatrum, sending my men into a frenzy; blood staining my floors, causing chaos… again…’_ He trailed off as his eyes roamed the girl’s body, the curve of her ass peeking from the thin linens that billowed as she glided across the marble, her lithe but toned arms brushing the fringe of fire from her forehead as she snapped her cerulean gaze quickly in the prince’s direction; an irritated glower gracing the smooth angles of her face.  
  
The prince smirked, his grey stare boring into her icy blue glare.  
  
_‘You wish me to stop talking. It’s all there… on your face.’_ He mused watching her lip curl as he read her like a book.  
  
_‘Hn…why don’t you strike me with that little neck trick you suffered my captain with? From the looks of it, I’ll have no breath to speak with.’_ He finished with a whisper tilting his neck to the side as he grinned, the handsome curve of his jaw exposed as his wet raven locks fell back across the thick of his neck.  
  
_‘What is your name?’_ he asked again after a moments pause, his eyes never leaving the cold blue fire of her hatred filled gaze.  
  
Still she did not speak, turning her back on him as she approached the last window  
  
The prince continued to observe her, with a slight breath of a sigh he rose to his feet, the deep ripples of his abdomen flexing as he cricked his neck, rolling the stress of the day across his shoulders.  
  
The girl’s fingers left the top panel of the glass window when she turned to head across the chamber to the doors. The minute she spun around her eyes were met with storm grey, reeling back slightly from the prince who was inches from her face.  
  
A small smirk crept at the corner of his lips as he observed the defiance in her eyes.  
  
_‘What is your name?’_ He repeated.  
  
Still the girl, eyes cold with irritation said nothing.  
  
Jon’s smirk widened, becoming more and more amused with every act of outright dissent she made. He began to prowl around her, inspecting her arms, legs, arse and feet.  
  
_“Manderra…”_ he whispered while he circled behind her, his eyes grazing the curve of her bottom.  
  
Silence.  
  
_‘No? Manderra’s quite a common name for girls your age in Ghis… Kemdala then.’_ The prince attempted again  
  
Still, she ignored him.  
  
_‘Pashazde…Kimegi…Lazzali…Neqassa’_ the prince whispered one by one, attempting to list off enough Ghiscari names to figure the mystery of the slaves out, though none garnered a confirmation.  
  
He stood in front of her, his eyes grazing over the red of her hair. Reaching a large hand forward, his calloused fingers trapped a silky tendril of flame in their grip. Running his thumb against the crimson strands, his eyes focused on them as if he was studying a battle map.  
  
_“Hnnn…but these locks…they are not Ghsicari…”_ he murmured curiously.  
  
The slave’s eyes watched him as he toyed with her hair, her breathing even, though her proximity to this strange man was beginning to cause her to feel… strange.  
  
Jon’s eyes snapped back to hers. His eyes narrowed slightly, the look on his face mirroring his thoughts: that he was onto something and the slave knew it.  
  
_‘Kegosha…Mikhali…Zegdana… oh come now, Zegdana perhaps? It means red in your language. Surely…’_  
  
  
Still, nothing.  
  
_‘… And would you tell me if I guessed correctly?_ ’ He mused. His eyes boring into hers while his fingers till toyed at her locks.  
  
Silence.

 _‘Zashine…Marroga…Rinala…Pramdzna…’_ The prince continued, but still to no avail. She remained silent, unperturbed, adamant to remain mute to him and his inquiries. The prince understood her defiance matched his curiosity in strength. He opted for another route.  
  
_‘Not Zegdana for red… not Rinala for flower…’_  
  
  
_‘Perhaps Gorrozi, for cow_ ’ he whispered silkily, his eyes boring into hers daring her to react.  
  
His analysis was correct. He’d managed to strike a nerve. It was instantaneous, her eyes flashed, her lips curled back while her cheeks narrowed.  
  
Jon was too quick. His cat-like reflexes caught a firm grip of her face with his large calloused hand, stopping her from ejecting the spit from her mouth.  
  
He cocked his head to the side, the ghost of his smirk barely playing on the corners of his lips.  
  
_“Tssssk….”_ He crooned _‘Tis distasteful.”_  
  
The slave’s burning blue irises stared at him, hatred growing with every second. But something else… fear… she hadn’t realized how quick he was nor had she appreciated the strength of his grip which was locked on her face and unrelenting.  
  
The prince observed her, peering into her face so directly it was as if he was looking into her soul. She tried not to show it, but it was hard for her to look away. She was beginning to feel trapped. More trapped than she already was.  
  
What he said next only confirmed her suspicions.  
  
_‘Your traverse through my chambers, I must inform you was futile. There are doors the lead to the outside, however my guards aren’t fond enough of you-- especially after your commotion you made today, to let you leave…’_  
  
She sucked back a breath of heated aggravation, her eyes darting to the doors behind him.  
  
He caught this, his eyes following slowly behind him before focusing on cerulean again.  
  
_‘You could try…”_ he began, answering the question that was no doubt forming in her mind  
  
_‘…But such a decision would not only be stupid, it would be fatal. Balerion…will eat you.’_ He whispered matter-of-factly, his gaze direct and unflinching.  
  
They were at a standstill. The girl realizing he spoke nothing but truths as the deep rumble from the beast outside reverberated across the marble of the great chamber.  
  
The specter of the prince’s smirk began to haunt the corner of his lips again before his ears perked up to a growl, a growl that didn’t come from the beast at his door. He dropped his gaze from the girl’s eyes to her stomach. With his grip still wrapped firmly around her jaw, he spoke:  
  
‘Though no  words will spill from these lips, your belly betrays you. It speaks of your hunger.’ He stated, his eyes working their way up to her lips.  
  
So focused on his eyes staring at her mouth, the fear and irritation charging through her like an angry fire, that she hardly noticed his hand extend outward.  
  
_‘Eat.’_ He commanded, letting go of his iron-like grip on her face pointing towards the mountain of firefruit laid on the table in the middle of his pavilion.  
  
She reeled back from him, rubbing her face gingerly, the loathing still apparent on her face. The prince cocked an eyebrow but left her well enough alone once they’d separated. Turning his back to her, though a wiser man would have maintained his eye contact, he traipsed lazily to his bed. Slipping his trousers from his legs, she observed his naked muscular form crawl into bed heavily. His face to the pillows as his arms spanned across the silks.

  
She stood alone, staring at him drift into a slumber. For all intents and purposes, she was the safest she’d been since she arrived in Valyria. But something about this handsome stranger who had no verbal filter or consideration for personal space, made her feel that perhaps she was better suited for the pits than his chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I’m back with another short(ish) but sweet and LONG overdue update on this story. I have to admit, I kind of lost my way with this one. The idea/plot is laid out perfectly in my mind but alas, responsibilities and (*cough* procrastination *cough*) poor time management skills have forced me to put this on on the back burner…
> 
> Until now!
> 
> So let’s get down to it, shall we? Our crimson-haired spitfire has been promoted to the palace after annihilating several other gladiators and a few Fledglings. Determined as ever to remain untamed, she continues to abuse her captors. Prince Jon realizes she’ll be a piece of work…A job he’s more than willing to take.Stay tuned. Chaos will ensue, but then again you all will probably like it ;)
> 
> Hope you all enjoy(ed)!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Jon is the crown prince of the Valyrian Freehold. Having seized control of every bordering land from the east to the west, the civilization is in it's prime...
> 
> His campaigns bring him into the acquaintance of a strange fire haired slave, captured from a neighboring empire. The prince, idle by nature, grows unaware of the machinations in his own kingdom, assuming the realm remains undisturbed...
> 
> Until the sorcerers of the empire grow too bold with their use of dragon fire and dark magic.
> 
> Even the gods cannot contain the chaos that ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fire haired slave's familiarity with the prince's chambers begin to consume her, despite her best efforts to remain detached.

The glare of the warm Valyrian sun cast its light on the prince through the silks of his bed canopy. His eyes had already opened well before the dawn had risen. Finally mustering the ambition to rise from his comfortable disposition, he slipped the sheets from his naked body, meandering with a deep groan to the ornate blue stone basin near his bed. Snatching up a white linen cloth between his large calloused hands he began to dip it into the cool of the water, dabbing it over his face and curls while pulling a sprig of mint from a clay bowl. He chewed the mint before swishing a mouthful of water around his mouth--spitting it in a pail at his feet.  
Running a hand through his hair, he opened his eyes to the light of the room letting them roam to the far side of the chamber. His grey eyes, like a hawk’s came to a sharp focus on a bundle of linen curled up on the floors. Pulling a long sheet from his bed he wrapped it around the base of his torso, the v-like indents above his pelvis peeking through the fabric. Running a hand over the black gloss of his beard, he stepped over to the far side of his chamber, coming to a stop before the red-haired slaved who was surrounded by pits of fruit and rind. She was curled fetally, a stray red lock rising and falling on the pale of her skin as she breathed slowly in her slumber. 

The prince cocked a smirk; she looked far less intimidating in this attitude. Soft, even-- as if her skin had never seen a day under the scorch of the sun, as if her cerulean eyes had never seen a day of battle. He resisted the urge to reach down and caress her skin, opting at observing her while she slept only. He missed nothing though. He examined every inch of her, like some physician considering a patient. He crouched beside her, running his eyes over the curve of her breasts, her stomach, her legs. A few scars here and there were noticeable, burns no doubt from her stint with the Fledglings, whip marks, other scrapes, marks that were clearly burns however not from fire…

He was intrigued. Inching closer, his nose almost touching hers. True to her militant form it only took a second before her cerulean eyes flashed open to meet the prince’s grey. Her hand reached back in preparation to strike. His feline reflexes were too sharp, however snatching her hand up before it had a change to meet his face. Holding her hand at bay his eyebrow raised in amusement. Even at the brink of dawn she was vicious, at the ready.

“Ahh…and there she is.” He whispered deeply, his face an inch from hers, a ghost of a smirk toying at the corners of his lips.

She stared back at him, her face dawning her usually glare of loathing. Unfazed however that he was perched above her, face only a few inches from hers. Jon smirked down at her hateful scowl.

“I trust you slept well?” He quipped, running his fingers around her hand still clutched in his.

Her eyes snapped from his face to her hand as he toyed with it, her aggressive disposition faltering at the feel of his touch.

“Hmmm… with a belly full of fire fruit, of course you did.” He said knowingly, not waiting for confirmation. He rose to full height observing her as she shuffled from him.

His faced morphed from mild amusement to regimented rapidly. He would not underestimate her if she was left to her own devices. He knew what she was capable of unattended: which prompted his next declaration.

“You are confined to these rooms. This chamber in particular. You may traverse to the surrounding areas but ultimately, you will remain in these quarters.” He stated nonchalantly. “You will clean these quarters daily. When you rise in the morning, your tasks will be laid out for you.” 

At that moment, the Rose haired beauty made to protest. The prince could see it in her eyes but before she got the chance, he cut her off.

“You will not argue, or cause any more commotion. Again, if you try to escape, Balerion will set your skin to a broil.”

The girl’s eyes flashed with hatred as she watched the prince observe her reaction with a goading smile gracing the corner of his lips, as always. 

Not a moment later, the chamber doors opened. Without preamble a wizened old woman, beautiful but ancient traipsed through the room, two other women carry baskets and pails of water following after her.

“Every dawn the very same my little crow! You would sleep through the fall of an empire if one did not light Balerion’s dragon fire beneath you.” The old woman scolded as she rushed towards the prince, reaching her lithe but wrinkled fingers towards his face. 

The price smiled at her reprimands, absorbing all her fussing with ease as she cupped his face and braced his arms, inspecting him like an over-bearing grandmother. 

“What is this scar? This was not upon your back this time last… and this!” She exclaimed reaching towards a deep gash at the base of his collarbone “What do you engage in on these campaigns?! Foolish the lot of you men, you’d destroy perfectly healthy bodies for the sake of more land! I told your grandfather I hated wars—“

“It’s nothing Aerdeara. Tis a mark of hard labor is all.” The Price crooned reaching his hands towards her forehead and placing a kiss upon it, lifting her head here and there inspecting her face like a physician as she chattered away about his scars.

“Aerdeara…” Jon interrupted “We have a guest.”

Immediately, the wizened old woman halted her fussing and looked about the room, turning her head towards the prince’s extended arm.

Her amethyst colored eyes fell on the slave, who was observing the commotion with wary eyes.

“And who is this?” The woman named Aerdeara asked her face quizzical but calm.

“The slave who championed the fighting pits.” Jon replied automatically.

Aerdeara wasted no time traipsing her small and wizened form toward the girl quickly, her speed betraying her age and appearance. Only a moment later she was in front of the girl, inspecting her the way she had inspected the prince a few moments earlier.

“Despicable.” She stated after holding the fire haired beauty’s arms above her head, her hands running over the girls stomach. The slave’s eyes flashed quickly towards the woman, her face on guard.

“Such a beauty, marred and scorched like some common mare! Look at her skin, like porcelain yet it looks from her physique as if she’d readily go to war in one of your battalions! I told your grandfather, I told him I hated wars—"

“Aerdeara—" The price interjected again, a smile creeping up his face at the old woman’s exasperation. “She has been plucked from the pits to put her talents to better use, here, in the palace—more specifically these rooms so as to keep her from any more… trouble.”

At this the old woman’s face lit up. Her expression more approving at this declaration.

“Well… I’m pleased to see that someone on is using some sense after all these years! Very well, the usual I presume?” The old woman asked but as she did so, she waited for no confirmation. With the same speed she demonstrated earlier she was lifting the slave’s arms up, twirling her around in inspection.

“We shall have to clean these wounds and get this soot from your skin. I swear if it wasn’t for our riches people might think Valyria was a simply a vast island of Barbarians… once we’ve had you bathed you’ll be putting those pails to good use love.” Aerdeara stated nodding at the pails of water in the two handmaidens’ possession. Yanking the slave towards her, the prince placed on last kiss on the old woman’s forehead as she hurried away with the slave dragging behind her. The red haired beauty threw one last look at the prince, one less of hatred now and one of panic. For the first time separation from him filled her with fear. Though he was no doubt her enemy, her captor in this strange land—he was the first to make her feel mildly safe in a place where she had to guard her very life with every ounce of strength she owned.

He looked back with small smirk and what the slave could barely make out as a nod… of reassurance. As if he could read her face and was telling her not to worry.

But no… perhaps she was mistaken… she thought. A prince like him could never be worried about something as insignificant as her well-being.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

A fortnight had passed since the slave had been introduced to her new offices. Aerdara had firmly instructed her that her duties were to be performed precisely and diligently. No room for half-hearted attempts or laziness. Aerdeara fussed over her the very same way she fussed over the prince, Matronly through and through. The slave could not help but ease her combative nature even though the work was degrading.

Day in and day out her hands, once used as weapons for murder were rubbed raw from the wool cloths and lye used to scrub the granite and marble. Begrudgingly she completed the tasks appointed to her, feeling as common and useless as a mule, letting sweat drip from her neck and temples from dusk till dawn as she stood over the hot coals that baked the Prince’s bread and roasted his meats. 

The fire haired slave was pulling one particularly succulent piece of lamb from the spit in the front courtyard pavilion into stew one evening, just as the sun was setting over the horizon. The courtyard was alive with fire, candle light and streams of petals from fire flowers lined the balcony, the streets below and the very air. The Valyrians had once again won a great victory against a neighboring empire. The city was wrought with mirth and celebration. So was the very palace itself, as was custom.

The slave stirred the pot of stew determinedly, focused on muting the noise of the handmaidens and battalion men filling the chamber and courtyard.

The great glass doors of the prince’s chambers opened with a breeze of warm Valyrian air, the heavy beating of great reptilian wings sending the silk drapes rippling in the wind. Balerion’s great claws touched down on the marble of the balcony, the Prince’s black iron clad body coming to a lazy but regal drop beside them. He pushed his raven curls back, the sweat of his brown slicking them in place as his brooding face broke into a smile between his glossy black beard. His men swarmed him, hands full of meat and mead, bracing his arms in mock revelry at his physique, patting him on the back for another battle won. The woman bowed offering up wreaths of fire flowers and food, others curtsying with flagons of wine. The prince maneuvered gracefully through his men and the servant girls, an embrace here a kiss there, all the way to his glass doors where the silks billowed. 

Jon rolled his neck back continuing the motion through his back as he made his way towards the lamb on the spit, narrowly missing a maid who was beating a tambourine against her thigh, holding a glass of wine with the other. He was hugged by his two men, Talaenor and Talaenyx who had beat him to the celebration following him to the fire, ripping off pieces of lamb and toasting to victory and life. 

“Another battle won my prince, it is time you indulge, your great-great-grandfather did the very same after every fight.” Talaenor coaxed

“I reckon that’s the reason the royal family is so large. Your grandfather never ceased on nights like these…”quipped Talaenyx slyly nudging the prince.

“By the gods, you both ...” whispered the prince with a smile to the two, toasting them and dropping spills of wine into the fire beneath them for the gods.

“Where is Jaegon? And the rest of my family?” Asked Jon, quirking an eyebrow up at their absence.

“The general is rounding the rest of our spoils from the boats with the spare of the battalion and your family celebrates in the royal court with the rest of the city. They thought they’d leave you to your devices for the evening.” Retorted Talaenor with a grin, his eyes turning to the multitude of beautiful maids frolicking around the chamber.

“My devices or yours?” asked the price observing his best friend as his mouth watered at the sight of the women.

“Speaking of never ceasing, does the palace wish for their prince to ever see sleeps embrace?”

“Ahh! You see more sleep than the average Valyrian I hear little crow, we all know it! You’d sleep through an eruption I tell you.” Exclaimed Talaenyx.  
“And that is why we haven’t lost a battle yet, your commander is well rested.” Jon quipped back lazily, dogging a swing from the left. 

“Bah! So be it, I’ll lead them out.” Laughed the men, taking a few last bits of lamb and bowing respectfully to their sovereign. Jon tilted his head towards them slightly, taking a rip of a piece of lamb before stalking back towards the pit where the slave stirred the broth. A few moments later, the gentle creek of the glass doors and the quiet hush filled the room as the gaiety and voices muted and all that could be heard was the small scrape of the slave’s ladle.

She could feel the heat of eyes burning into her forehead. Her eyes were downcast, focused unflinchingly at the lamb bobbing up and down in the hearty broth of the stew. But the heat… the heat was becoming greater and greater morphing from a burn to a broil, searing into her very skull. Her eyes screwed up slightly as she looked away from the stew, shaking her head into lucidness

—her eyes snapping open a moment later to the Prince’s cold grey stare. And inch from her face, his face emotionless, his eyes hawk-like.

He observed her for a moment. Inspecting her the way he peered over battle plans with Talaenor and Talaenyx. 

“Are you happy to see me?” He asked, his tone soft.

The slave stared coldly back, trying to ignore the uncomfortable sensation his flinch-less gaze and close proximity was having on her nerves. Moving away slightly, her eyes narrowed towards him, she turned her attention back to the broth in front of her.

Jon smirked slightly and began to strip his armor, lifting the one-sided breastplate off his chest, letting the mail glide through his fingers as he set it aside.

The slave focused intently on the food, not pleased with the sudden exclusivity this man and her were now privy to. A moment later as her senses cued, she felt heat beside her. 

Close beside her. 

She turned only to feel a firm grasp on the hand that held the ladle, the prince stirring the stew in tandem with her strokes.

“Good. I thought Aerdeara would grow you accustom to our ways…” He began slowly… “This broth is tradition. The meat is to represent the flesh of our enemies. The broth, their blood…and we drink ‘til our bellies are full of their corpses.” He crooned deeply, raising his eyes to a dead-lock on the slave’s face.

She stared back, clearly vexed, her eyes locking on the princes as if she’d been challenged in some way.

Jon smirked inwardly though outwardly he remained stoic, continuing his thoughts.

“What else have you assigned your time to? I see my chambers are without blemish… I can see my face in these floors….”

“And the linens on the bed… pressed with iron—well done… well done…’’ he chimed while considering his quarters.

A few more moments passed of silence while Jon surveyed his chambers and the slave stewed the broth before it was broken by the prince again.

“Are you happy to see me?” He repeated. The slave looking up from the stew to his eyes another inch closer to hers, his arms circling the polished stone separating her and the pit. She couldn’t help but swallow hard. The closer he got the more the heat seemed to suck the life from her. 

“I ask because this is my elect… the lamb… typically we use... bull… fine animals but not as tender. A favorite of mine prepared on the evening of a victory… you must be happy to have made me something so rich.” The prince teased. 

The slaves lip curled, she stopped stirring, breaking her gaze from the princes, reaching for a quartz bowl beside her. She began to ladle the broth into the bowl, the rich blood red contents and chunks of steaming lamb wafting between them.

“Mmmm… thank you.” Crooned Jon deeply his grey eyes never breaking from hers.

“Don’t looks so cross, you did a fine job, worked very hard… it’s all there, the soot on your face could attest to nothing less.”

The girl’s eyes flashed, her mouth curling but as usual the prince was too quick, snatching her face up before she could eject the spit from her mouth.

“Tskkkk….. none of that…” He whispered with a grin. His eyes dilated with nonchalant mirth. 

It took a moment for her mouth to soften and the prince’s grip to loosen. Once it did, he traced his fingers up her face placing his thumb against her brow and wiping a deep black stain from it.

He smudged it between his thumb and forefinger, smirking at her whilst he did it. Leaning forward above the bowl he sucked in the aroma, his eyes closing briefly.

Opening them, his eyes locked on the girl again.

“I hunger.” He stated bluntly.

The girl’s did not narrow, they stayed blank-- the only movement the slow swirl of her tongue around her teeth. Never breaking her eyes from his, she let a slow stream of spit pool into his stew, taking her time to swirl the contents around as she tilted the bowl back and forth.

All the while, the prince’s face not breaking an expression as a slight smirk of retribution barely crept up hers. 

Taking the bowl from her hand, raising it slowly to his lips he drank deeply from it, his gulps becoming deeper and more elongated with ever sip. His eyes still locked on hers.

Her smirk faltered, any trace of it completely gone as he took his last gulp. Tilting the bowl forward to reveal its contents completely emptied. 

Her countenance displayed was vexed more so than shocked. She had never encountered anyone with as much gall and as little cares as he. It was not only puzzling but unnerving. As if nothing she did, as if nothing anyone did could move him.

Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he held the bowl out cupped in his large grip. 

“Another.” He whispered.  
********************************************************************************

Day in and day out, it was more of the same. The slave was assigned to more grueling and tedious work. Aerdeara came in and out of the Prince’s quarters, managing the girl’s chores and fussing over her as usual. The slave learned to tolerate it, realizing that though the woman was a citizen of the enemy nation, she meant well.

The same, as far as the slave was concerned could not be said for the dark haired ruler who rode in on his beast very night.

It was more of the same, more conquering, more festivities; the celebrations the Valyrian’s held to pay tribute to their might roared with excess and noise loud enough to shake the earth. It was all the red haired beauty could to keep her equilibrium when the prince would touch down with Balerion on the balcony marble. The aftershock of battalion and palace women stomping in salute and mirth at another victory spearheaded by their raven hued commander, shook her to her core. 

And it sickened her.

Such was the case one evening when the sky bled crimson and purple with specks of blue fire from the city to soften the hue. Another land conquered to the east of the capital. But for the first time, the balcony was free of the horde of gold clad celebrators. Not a soldier or maiden, save for the few collecting empty water basins. The slave could hear the roar of the crowd and Matalor’s silky silver tongue projecting his poison over the fold. She shut her eyes, shaking the snaking tones from her head, tuning out the sound of the city reluctantly but paradoxically eager to get back to her duties.

She barely made it in to the chamber before a warm gust of wind blew her crimson tendrils over her face, blinding her from the very steps she intended to take. A heavy shudder rippled through the ground beneath her, signaling the very arrival of the one person she dreaded most.

A moment later the chamber doors creaked open, the white silks and linens billowing in the evening wind disturbed by the ebony stain of the Prince’s locks brushing past them. 

The slave, used to his appearances yet still dreading them went about her business as usual. Attempting to ignore him and complete her task before she was permitted to retire and sleep.

of course, no such courtesy was permitted. At least not if Jon had any say in the matter.

Without speaking, he resumed his routine of shedding his attire. From the slave’s peripheral, she could see him lifting his breastplate from his chest. She could hear the echoes of the mail from the armor grazing the porcelain. 

She heard nothing else. A wave of thankfulness swelled in her gut, assuming perhaps the prince was too tired to engage her, perhaps the demands of his day had caused him to tire faster than usual.

It was a thought that only had seconds to be entertained. The moment she made to collect his armor, she was met by the same cold grey stare. His face, as usual, and inch from hers.

Gods! How was he able to stalk her so silently! She thought.

Her countenance remained vexed, though at this point she was surprised she was not used to said behavior.

“Good evening. I take it your duties ran smoothly?” He crooned, inspecting her as he always did.

And as usual, she remained silent. Her only response her look of loathing.

“I’ll take that to mean, yes since you still appear to be mute.” He prodded.

She did not bite.

With a smirk and a slight nod he continued. “It’s been over a month you know. Yet still you will not tell me your name… have I not been good to you? Do I not deserve to know now? So far into our acquaintance?” 

Silence.

Inwardly the prince smirked. He knew she understood him. Her stubbornness rivaled only his. 

“Very well.” He sighed, turning from her and meandering back to his bed. His body clad in nothing but a wrap of linen around his waist. 

The slave, glad to have her personal space granted back to her, reached in the stone basin beside her for a dragon tooth comb. Making her way towards the prince as he dabbed a rag against his beard and neck. 

One of the duties appointed to her by Aerdara was to comb the prince’s royal locks. The simplest yet most degrading chore the slave felt she had the burden of bearing. She preferred to stay as far from him as possible if she could help it. Yet here she was, a comb in her hand and Jon’s ebony curls in the other. 

She lifted her linen gown above her knees, kneeling on the bed behind him. Her legs straddling his torso as she leaned forward to dip the comb in the basin by his feet. 

As she got back up, she peered at his back. New scars and kinks showed against the tan of his skin. She wondered briefly how much pain his was in but shook the thought of any sympathy for him out of her head. He was the enemy.

The enemy.

Satisfied with her resolve she clutched the dragon tooth comb, beginning to run it through his locks. His curls elongating and bouncing back with a glisten every time the wet saturated his strands.

A deep rumble of satisfaction reverberated from him. His grey eyes closing at her touch and the feel of the comb sliding through his hair. 

The slave observed how calm he became from the strokes of her brushes. He was complacent. In a state of vulnerability. 

It would be too easy, to end her troubles here and there. A slight slip of the finger and the tooth of one of beasts so revered by this barbaric civilization would be the very tool to end his life. To end her slavery.

The surge of adrenaline at the thought took over her corpse like a sickness. Her heart began to race. She could feel the blood rushing from her head to her lungs, her breathing hitched. Her fingers began to tremble. The room, and the raven locks beneath her finger tips began to blur. The chamber spinning in a whirl of dark color…

******************************************************

A cold sensation like an egg being cracked against the skull permeated the slave’s senses as her cerulean gaze opened. She was on the marble of the prince’s chambers. Having no recollection to how she got there. What more is that her head was not lying on the ground but cradled against something firm. Gathering her senses as quickly as possible, she was able to realize what was pillowing her skull was the Prince’s forearm. He was looking down at her, his face expressionless. His grip however, firm.

The memory of a moment before shocked her into attention. She sat up quickly, ignoring his hiss of disapproval. Picking up the dragon tooth comb that lay clattered against the floor, she quickly made for her position on the bed resuming her duty with haughty pride and militant-like indifference.

The prince, though eyeing her with curiosity, did what was most innate to him and carried on.

The slave, now realizing the surge of adrenaline at the thought of killing the prince a few moments before had been the culprit behind her loss of consciousness did her best to not let the disappointment of it all show. She began to comb through his curls again. Slowly. Allowing the world to come to a halt though her head was spinning.

She was about to begin her 7th stroke through his raven locks before his large hand raised above his head, gripping her wrist tightly. 

Surprise barely had a moment to register on her face before her body, as well as her wrist were being pulled forward. Before she knew it, she was straddling the prince’s lap, her hand held firmly in his.

The prince adjusted his grip around her back, holding her torso steady while he entwined her fingers through his. His cold grey stare penetrating her for a moment before he switched his focus to her finger tips.

She was severely uncomfortable, surprised, with a stroke of fear permeating her senses. She did not know what to do. She did not know why or how she allowed herself to be in this current attitude. But before she could retaliate or eject herself from her disposition, the prince’s grip on her hand strengthened began to slowly lift her fingers to his lips.

The slave, not knowing why, kept herself from fighting him. The uncertainty of the moment taking over more than her common senses. 

The cool of his lips encased her finger tip creating a cool that deepened to a warmth. Her heart began to race… What was he doing?

A moment later, a sting swept through her hand, originating from where his lips met her digits.

He'd bitten her.

She cringed slightly, her other hand at the ready to strike him.

He held her at bay.

It was only until he suckled further that she realized there was a method to this madness.

Still lightheaded, she calmed as she watched him. 

A few more moments of silence passed. She felt her heartbeat so heavily she thought the sounds would echo through the palace.

But the only sound made was his deep croon cutting through the silence.

“There is no sweetness in your blood.” He stated matter-of-factly.

She looked from her hand, covered in the glisten of his lips to his eyes that were deal locked with hers.

He continued. Looking from her eys to the rinds of fire fruit sitting in a pail beside the cushions where she slept.

“The fire-fruit. You’ve been consuming them wrong.”

He slipped her from his lap to the floor so gracefully she barely felt herself move. Perhaps it was the lack of strength that had escaped her moments ago. OR perhaps he was simply that agile.

He moved from the bed to the pail where a few more fruit lay un-peeled.

Picking on from the tin, he flipped it in his hand while walking back to her stopping above her as she looked up at him. Still not sure of the point he was trying to make.

“You peel the fruit, but you must eat, like-so:” he stated, biting into the plum, consuming the rind as well as the juices inside.

She understood.

He realized by her visage that she did.

With a smirk, he crouched above her, placing the fruit in front on her mouth. She glared at him. Defiantly as if to say: “I am not a child.”

He gave her a stern look, as if to say: “do not argue.”

Conceding defeat, she made gingerly towards his hand opening her mouth against the rind of the fruit before consuming it totally. She did not realize just how famished she was. Eating the fruit in the manner he instructed caused her to realize just how different it tasted, whole.

Watching her feast, he smirked again. Pulling another from the pail as she finished the first.

She took it without argument.

The slave had finished a total of four before she decided to pull her attention from her meal. Realizing she’d been watched the entire time she gobbled the fruit down.

The prince, as usual was staring at her with his cool grey eyes. 

A moment passed between them. It was not discomfort quite the opposite. Something in the air had shifted and what happened subsequently was a clear indicator of such.

“I want no pity from you.” She said.

The Prince, shocked by her words but a veteran in the art of war and his natural disposition being one of stoicism, did not betray his visage.

Instead, his smirk creeped across his features again. Pulling closer to her now blood red lips he whispered:

“I promise, you’ll get none.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi All!
> 
> I'm back.
> 
> After the longest hiatus ever. Channeling a bit of GRRM's energy with the procrastination *cough* I mean the time it takes to craft my art.
> 
> But seriously, life really just takes a toll. Takes (all) your time. I've returned to writing for catharsis, it's the only thing I really feel I have for myself at the moment. Full control. And I look froward to being able to continue this saga I crafted over a year ago. So thank you all for being so patient with me!
> 
> Anyway, our fire haired slave has finally decided to speak as the dominating energy of the prince becomes too much for her to avoid. What will happen next? And will either of them be able to resist the growing closeness that seems inevitable?
> 
> For better or for worse.
> 
> Stay tuned! More vice to come and I promise, It only gets heavier from here >:).
> 
> I hope you all enjoy[ed]!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! 
> 
> So, I know this has taken a while to update but it's finally here! (partially anyway) and I'm typing my ass away so as to be more prompt with my posting. 
> 
> Welcome to The Procrasti- Nation, where I reign queen. 
> 
> First chapter is a bit of a teaser, things are chill... for the moment. Enjoy it now because things WILL get serious and your emotions might not be ready (for all of you who have read my previous works, I'm sure you know what to expect ;)).
> 
> Though my summary says this will be an extended one-shot, I've decided to split this [one] up into three parts as opposed to a one chapter continuation. Updates coming soon! Hope you all enjoy(ed)!


End file.
